


We Didn't, Did We?

by SigmaCreations



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: Drunk Sex, F/M, Family, Requited Love, Retirement, Unplanned Pregnancy, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2018-06-06 09:57:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 49
Words: 94,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6749074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SigmaCreations/pseuds/SigmaCreations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Ruth wakes up in Harry's bed after the office Christmas party is it a disaster, a cause for celebration or a blessing in disguise? AU story with characters from season 8, loosely following the plot from that series and beyond, but mostly containing Christmas fluff with a little angst thrown in for good measure. Reviews are always appreciated. Cheers, S.C.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Today, 23rd December, 7 am_

 

The incessant beeping will not stop. It stabs at his aching head with an insistence that cannot be ignored, and he groans as he fights to hold onto the blissful dream that's rapidly dissolving as he's forced into wakefulness. His hand reaches out towards the bedside table to locate his phone and turn off the bloody alarm. He feels around, but the moment his hand closes over it, someone shifts beside him and an arm collides sharply with his face. He yelps in pain and surprise, whipping his head around towards the intruder and opening his eyes for the first time. His breath catches in his throat as his gaze falls on a pair of very familiar, blue eyes that are staring at him in alarm. _Oh shag_ , he thinks.

 

 

_Three days earlier, 10 am_

 

“So, who do you have to get a present for?” Lucas asks as he sits on the edge of her desk.

“You know the rules, Lucas. I'm not telling you,” Ros replies without looking up.

“Is it me?” he grins.

“There is a twenty-five per cent chance that it's you.”

“Well, just in case, I thought I'd let you know that a bottle of vodka would be very much appreciated.”

“I know, Lucas. You already informed us _all_ of that fact the moment we finished drawing names out of the hat.”

Lucas shrugs and says, “Doesn't hurt to make sure.” He glances around the Grid and then adds, “I envy the people who got me and Harry. All they need to get is a bottle of booze.” His eyes drift over to Harry's office and catch him staring longingly through his window at Ruth's desk despite the fact that it's empty. “I hope it's Ruth who's got him. She's the only one who can give him what he really wants.”

Ros finally raises her eyes from the report on her table and looks at Lucas and then at Harry. “Never going to happen, Lucas. Ruth will never agree.”

“Shame really. It would be one hell of a Christmas present for him.”

 

 

_Today, 23rd December, 7:05 am_

 

He's dreamt of this moment so many times, wished for it so desperately, and yet he's never once imagined that she'd be looking at him like this, with eyes full of panic and fear. He blinks slowly to hide the pain that he's sure is clearly visible in his gaze. He opens his eyes again. Try as he might, he can't remember how they ended up here, like this. They must have been really pissed last night.

“Hi,” he says eventually.

“Harry?” she whispers in alarm.

He looks around him. They're in his bedroom, in his bed. He brings his hand up to his face and rubs at the stubble on his chin before bringing it up to pinch the bridge of his nose. _Fuck_ , he thinks.

“Did we...? We didn't, did we?” she stammers eventually.

So she can't remember either then. He closes his eyes and tries to block out the pain slashing through his heart at the panic in her voice. Secretly he's always hoped that, if they ever found themselves in this position, it would bring them together like nothing else has. Making love would be a way past the awkwardness that always seems to plague the pair of them. Perhaps that would have been true if either of them could remember anything. It occurs to him suddenly that, given the state of intoxication they must have been under to have no recollection of how they got to his house, let alone into his bed together, it's more than likely that nothing _has_ happened. After all, he's approaching sixty, is out of shape and overweight, and he has serious doubts that he would have been able to perform under the circumstances. Without thinking much about it, he lifts the covers and peers under them.

“ _Harry!_ ” she exclaims, causing his head to turn towards her sharply.

“Sorry,” he apologises quickly, closing his eyes but not fast enough to avoid getting a tantalizing glimpse of cream coloured flesh. She's naked then, or at least, her top half is. He clears his throat and tries to explain, “I was just trying to ascertain how much clothing I'm wearing.”

There's a brief silence and then she asks tentatively, “And how much _are_ you wearing?”

“Not much,” he admits.

“No, neither am I,” she sighs.

He swallows and wills his body not to react to that statement.


	2. Chapter 2

_Yesterday, 5 pm_

 

“Presents!” Tariq grins as they all gather in the briefing room.

“Presents,” Harry repeats in resignation, staring at the small pile of five gifts wrapped in festive paper that's currently occupying the spot right in front of him. “I'll hand them out then, shall I?” Tariq nods eagerly and Harry stifles a sigh as he picks up the first one and reads the tag. “Ros,” he says and pushes it towards her.

Everyone watches as she rips the gold paper off the gift and opens the box. Inside is a brown Teddy-bear dressed in a faux-leather, one piece, black outfit. Ros picks it up and places it on the table, raising one eyebrow as she scans the group to guess who's given her the gift. Everyone's grinning at her; Ros and a Teddy-bear, now _that's_ absurd _._

Tariq's studying it intently with unmasked curiosity, and Ruth looks enamoured with the thing, so she rules them out. That leaves Lucas and Harry and neither of them is giving anything away. Reaching over, she presses the bear's hand on the spot where it says 'Press here', and it begins to move its hips as Elvis Presley sings 'I wanna be your Teddy-bear'. She's so surprised by this that she almost misses Harry's eyebrows rising slightly in astonishment. It has to be Lucas then.

Moments later, the entire group is laughing at the dancing bear, and it occurs to several of them that this is the first time in a while that they've all shared a moment of mirth. Eventually the bear's dance ends and everyone settles back down.

“Thank you, Lucas,” Ros smiles. “Though I sincerely hope that you're not trying to imply anything with that song.”

“I just couldn't resist,” he grins. “I knew it would elicit a smile even from you, Ros. Merry Christmas.”

 

 

_Today, 23rd December, 7:15 am_

 

The silence stretches on for a few more moments.

“So,” Ruth eventually ventures, “do you...? I mean, I don't...” She sighs.

“Regretfully, no,” Harry replies, somehow understanding what she's trying to ask.

She blushes and turns away from him, rolling onto her back.

He rubs his face one more time, and needing to put some physical distance between them, he sits up, swinging his feet onto the floor. His sudden movement to an upright position causes his head to spin as his headache worsens to a sharp throbbing pain. Leaning over, he puts his head in his hands as he fights off the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him. Soon he realises that he's not winning this particular battle, so he pushes himself upright and staggers to the bathroom, managing to mumble a quiet, “Excuse me,” as he leaves the room. Luckily he gets to the toilet just before the contents of his rather empty stomach reappear.

He slides to the floor and rests his back against the bath tub as he cradles his head in his hands. He hasn't reached such a point of intoxication in years. In fact, the last time he'd felt so bad in the morning had been in hospital after a particularly nasty drug he'd been given and... Wait a minute! He sits up straight and states at the wall in front of him as his hands drop to his sides. Surely it isn't possible. Could someone have drugged him? But how? And for what purpose? And where? He was fine before the party last night. Could someone have drugged him at an MI-5 office party? _Get a grip, Harry_ , he tells himself. There must be some other explanation. Maybe some of the booze was off. He remembers starting the evening with beer and then moving on to whisky and... vodka? Did he really drink vodka? That explains it then. In his experience, you can't trust anything Russian, not even a drink. What in heaven's name had possessed him to do so?... He sighs. Ruth... of course... always.

He pushes himself upright, and stripping off his underwear and the single sock that he's wearing, he gets into the shower.

 

 

_Yesterday, 10 pm_

 

“Want to dance, Ros?”

“No, thank you, Lucas.”

He shrugs and walks over to Ruth.

“May I have this dance, Ruth?”

“Oh! I... um... thank you, but I don't want to dance, Lucas. I'm sorry.”

“Haven't drunk enough yet?” he grins.

“No,” she smiles. “Nowhere near enough.”

“Let me get you another drink then. Cider, is it?”

“Yes, I mean no. No, thank you.”

He shrugs and moves towards the bar, returning shortly with a pint of cider for her.

“Lucas, are you trying to get me drunk?”

“No, just tipsy enough to dance with me. I've already asked Ros and she turned me down, and I'm sure my ego won't be able to cope with all the members of my team rejecting me in one night.”

“Two is not the same as all, Lucas.”

He smiles and calls over to Tariq, “Oi, Tariq. Want to dance with me?”

“Are you pissed, Mate?!” Tariq replies in astonishment.

“See? No one wants me.”

Ruth laughs.


	3. Chapter 3

_Today, 23rd December, 7:30 am_

 

How did she get herself in this position? In bed with Harry of all people. Sodding Lucas and his bloody cider. How much had she had to drink anyway? She'd started with half a pint of cider and then Lucas had bought her two pints. Then Max from C section had joined them and bought her another - one? two? more than that? - She can't remember. _Fuck_ , she thinks. They'd been dancing and singing – karaoke? - with Max and Lucas... and Harry? She'd been dancing with Harry, right? This is the part where the evening gets very blurry. The inside of a cab with... who? Harry?... no, Ros. She's pretty confident that Ros had offered to take her home. So how did she get here, in Harry's bed? And what had happened? Surely, if they'd both been that drunk, nothing _could_ have happened. A stab of disappointment surprises her. The thought of finally spending a night in Harry's bed and nothing happening between them hurts in a way she hadn't expected.

The door of the bathroom opens, interrupting her analysis of that particular feeling. He stands in the doorway a little uncertainly. “Sorry, Ruth,” he murmurs. “I forgot to grab some clean clothes.”

“It's okay, Harry,” she replies quietly and averts her eyes when she realises she's been staring at his towel clad body.

He clears his throat. “The bathroom's free if you'd like a shower. I put out a clean towel.”

“Thank you. That would be nice.”

“Right then.”

There's a pause.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you could... you know... turn around?”

“Oh, yes, sorry.”

He moves over to the wardrobe and opens it to find a clean shirt and suit, turning his back towards her.

 

 

_Yesterday, 11 pm_

 

“Hi, Ruth,” he smiles.

“Hello. Max, isn't it?”

“Yes, that's right,” he grins, pleased that she's remembered his name. “Can I get you a drink?”

“I haven't finished this one yet.”

“Oh, right. Silly of me,” he murmurs and pauses, feeling a little awkward. Then he asks, “Would you like to dance?”

“Um... okay.”

“Great.”

On the other side of the room, Harry asks Ros, “Who's that?”

“Max Whitmore, new analyst to section C, transferred from GCHQ about a month ago.”

“I see.”

Ros watches as Harry takes another large gulp of his whisky. She still can't work out what it is about Ruth that inspires such devotion in him. He's very clearly in love with her; it can't be a mere physical thing if it's lasted this long, and even though Harry never likes to lose, she can't imagine that he's still interested in her just for the triumph of possessing her, the one that got away.

“Another drink, Harry?”

“Yes... Make it a double.”

She walks over to the bar and orders the drinks.

“Hi, Ros. How's it going?” Lucas grins.

“I can't stand it any more,” Ros declares.

“Can't stand what?” Lucas replies, turning to her in surprise.

“Those two,” she nods at Ruth and Harry. “I've had enough.”

“Enough?” Lucas smirks. “ _You've_ had enough? Imagine how they feel!”

“Exactly!” Ros smiles triumphantly. “Right. It's Christmas and I'm going to give them a present they'll never forget.”

“Oh, no, Ros,” Lucas shakes his head. “Don't meddle in other people's lives. It's not a good plan.”

“Are you _serious_?” Ros hisses. “Lucas, we're spooks. That's what we do. Besides, if I hadn't meddled before, perhaps they would have sorted this out by themselves already.”

“What do you mean?” Lucas frowns.

Ros shakes her head. “Never mind that. I've got a plan and you're going to help me.”

“I don't like the sound of that,” Lucas mumbles, but raises his hands up in surrender when Ros glares at him. He listens to her plan and his eyes widen in horror and fear. He tries to talk her out of it and refuse to help, but in the end he gives in. Perhaps he's had a little too much to drink at this stage. Perhaps they all have.

 

 

_Today, 23rd December, 7:50 am_

 

She comes out of the bathroom cautiously, afraid that Harry might still be in the room. Luckily it's empty. Another stab of disappointment catches her off guard. Shaking her head at her unexpected reaction, she moves into the room and looks around for the first time, taking in the sparse furnishings, plain, masculine décor, and neatness and order that prevails. It's exactly what she'd expected his bedroom to look like, she thinks as her gaze sweeps over the room. The bed has been made, she notes, and her clothes are neatly folded on top of it. She swallows as she spies her underwear and bra on top of the pile, unable to get past the fact that Harry has put them there. Harry has touched them and... She feels dizzy all of a sudden, and taking two steps over to the bed, she sits down heavily on the edge. She closes her eyes to fight off the nausea and is assaulted by a vivid feeling of his large, warm hands gliding over her skin, up under her top, her bra loosening as they approach her aching breasts, a moan of desire and anticipation escaping her throat as they moved ever closer to where she wants them, squeezing, stroking, caressing-

“Ruth, are you okay?”

Her eyes snap open and she swears as the room begins to spin.

“Ruth?”

He's at her side now, concern etched on his features as he looms over her, and as she opens her eyes again, she realises that she must have fallen back onto the bed at some point in the last few seconds.

“Fine,” she croaks. “A little dizzy, that's all, but it's passed now.”

“Oh, good,” he murmurs, but he doesn't pull back.

She stares up at his familiar, hazel eyes, so full of concern and love for her. Since she'd got back, they're always full of love when he looks at her. And sadness. A sadness which mostly distracts her from the love, but right at this moment in time, she can see it clearly and it takes her breath away. She's unable to stop her hands from reaching up to stroke his cheeks, nor is she able to stop them from sliding behind his neck, tangling themselves in his short, blond curls, and pulling him down towards her. His lips are soft and warm and wet, and all she's even dreamt of and wanted.


	4. Chapter 4

_Yesterday, 11:30 pm_

 

“Hello, Harry. How's it going?”

“Just peachy, thanks.”

“Oh, stop sulking, Mate, and go ask her to dance.”

He glares at Lucas's retreating back and vows to have him transferred to Uzbekistan in the morning. Then he turns around and makes a slightly awry beeline for Ruth.

“Hello, Harry,” she smiles and his frown evaporates in an instant.

“Hello, Ruth,” he caresses her name. “Would you like to dance?”

“I'd love to,” she beams and holds out her hand. He takes it in his and squeezes it tightly as he leads her to the dance floor.

 

 

_Today, 23rd December, 8:00 am_

 

Her lips are soft and gently persuasive as they brush against his, teasing, enticing, coaxing, until he's powerless to resist. He responds, his eyelids drifting shut as he presses his mouth down on hers, his breathing becoming heavier as he loses himself in the feel of her against him, wanting him... He pulls away abruptly and stands up, taking several steps back as he struggles for control. He can't do this again. His heart can't take it. He raises his right hand to his face and rubs his eyebrows with his thumb and fingers, shielding his eyes from the look of confusion and hurt he'd glimpsed on her face. “I'm sorry. I can't,” he says in a hoarse voice, and lowering his hand, he gives her an brief apologetic look and turns towards the door.

Embarrassment, hurt, and disappointment vie for dominance inside her and she takes refuge in anger. “Can't or won't?”

His step falters but he doesn't turn to face her. “Can't, won't, what's the difference?” he shrugs and walks out of the room and down the stairs.

She feels tears spring to her eyes, but she keeps them at bay by concentrating on her anger, and by the time she's got dressed, gone downstairs, and found him in the kitchen, she's fuming. “There is a big difference,” she states.

He's facing away from her, and at the sound of her voice, he pauses for a moment in the act of pouring his coffee. “Tea or coffee?” he asks a few seconds later in a tightly controlled voice.

“Tea,” she answers sharply.

He pours the hot water into the mug and puts a tea bag in it before turning around and placing it on the table for her.

“Toast?” he asks as he raises his eyes to look at her, his expression unreadable.

“Yes, please,” she replies a little less harshly this time.

They sit down and begin to eat in silence, the only sound coming from the knives scraping against the toast and clinking against the plates.

“Well?” she says eventually.

“Ruth,” he sighs, “can't we just drop it? Please?”

“Oh, sure, why not?” she answers sarcastically. “Let's just pretend that this never happened, shall we? After all, we're really good at that - pretending.”

He watches her carefully as she turns back to her food, trying to work out what's going on in that complicated head of hers. It's obvious that she's spoiling for a fight, however, whether it's because she's upset about waking up in his bed, the fact that he refused to let her drag him back to it, or just because she's probably feeling as ill as he is this morning, he can't say. So he keeps quiet and concentrates on his breakfast; there's absolutely no reason why he should let her vent her frustrations out on him.

Suddenly, she gets up and rushes from the room and up the stairs. He sighs, and finishing up his breakfast, he clears away the dishes, and when she still hadn't reappeared, he goes to look for her.

“Ruth?” he says gently as he taps on the bathroom door. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. Give me a minute.” Her voice sounds strained but not weepy.

“I'll... um... okay. I'll be downstairs if you need me.”

“Okay.”

A few minutes later, she appears in the doorway to the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” he asks gently as he approaches her, spreading the tea towel he's just finished using over the back of a chair.

“Yes, I'm fine.” He's watching her with concern again and it irritates her, reminding her of his reaction earlier, upstairs when she'd responded to it. “I'm fine,” she reiterates sharply. “I shouldn't have eaten anything. That's all.”

“Ah,” he nods in sympathy, remembering his own stomach's revolt this morning. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” she snaps. “I don't want your sympathy.”

He takes a step back at her aggressive tone.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, looking down at her hands and trying to rein in her temper. It's unusual for her to lose it like this, but she supposes that having a splitting headache, finding herself in Harry's bed with no recollection of how she got there, and having him reject her like that, qualify as extenuating circumstances.

“It's fine,” he replies.

“I'd better go.”

“I can give you a lift.”

“No, thank you. I'll take the bus,” she says firmly.

“Please,” he insists. “It's the least I can do.”

“No, Harry. The least you can do is explain,” she replies as she looks up and meets his gaze.

 

 

_Today, 12:30 am_

 

“Lucas, I need your help. Take Harry home. He's absolutely wasted and I can't support his weight. I've already called a cab. It's outside.”

“All right, Ros. I'll take care of it, but don't expect me to tuck him in bed.”

“No tucking will be necessary, Lucas. Just shove him onto it. I'm sure he'll be fine.”

He grins at her retreating back and walks up to Harry, who's slumped in a chair in the corner of the room. “Come on, Harry. I'm taking you home.” Lucas gets a mumbled, unintelligible response before he pulls his boss up and shepherds him out of the room towards the waiting cab.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_Today, 23rd December, 8:30 am_

 

Their eyes holds, hers glaring at him in challenge, his flashing in anger. She's pushed too far this time.

“What do you want me to say, Ruth? _What?_ That I can't take it any more? That I'm terrified of what I'll see in your eyes afterwards, when you change your mind again? Do you have _any_ idea how painful it was to see the panic, the fear, the... the regret in your eyes this morning? _Do_ you? I _cannot_ and _will_ not put myself through that again.”

She stares at him mutely for a moment as his eyes glare at her in anger, no longer radiating love but pain. His chest rises and falls with every harsh breath that he takes, and she blinks back tears as she murmurs, “I'm sorry, Harry. I...” She searches for the right words to explain, to set things straight, to fix this, but they elude her. Finally, a few seconds later, she gives up and turns around, picks up her bag, grabs her coat, opens the front door, walks through it, and closes it firmly behind her. As she walks away from his house, tears start to slide down her cheeks and she wipes them away roughly. She's very grateful that she has today off.

 

 

_Today, 12:40 am_

 

“Come on, Ruth. Cab's here.”

“Cab? What cab?”

“I'm taking you home. Party's over.”

“I can drive her home,” Max offers and adds hastily, “or not,” when he sees the look on Ros's face.

“Good night,” she says coldly.

“Night,” he murmurs. “Good night, Ruth.”

“Night,” she smiles and allows Ros to guide her to the cab.

 

 

_Today, 23rd December, 9 am_

 

He hates early morning shoppers. What the hell? Doesn't anyone else work? It isn't even Christmas Eve yet. He grips the steering wheel tighter and taps his foot impatiently on the floor of the car. Still, given the state his head is in, it's probably for the best that has to drive slowly. He should have really called a cab this morning, he realises as he raises a hand to massage his throbbing temples. Well, there isn't much he can do about it now, and in any case, he's driven in a worse state than this before and lived to tell the tale...

His thoughts drift back to Ruth and the look on her face before she'd left. He hates that she'd managed to get him to react, that he'd spoken so harshly to her. He'd told her the truth, but there's no excuse for the biting tone of his voice. Hell, maybe there is an excuse, but it still makes him feel awful. He'll apologise, he decides, find some way to fix this. He isn't sure how yet, but he'll find a way. This is them, after all; they always manage to muddle through somehow. She has the day off today, which is good. It will give them both time to cool off.

Another red light. He sighs and closes his eyes, taking deep breaths through his nose to calm himself. And then it happens, a vision... waking up with Ruth in his arms, the delight, the joy, the feeling of his lips on hers, her body pressing against him as she moans his name, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts, so soft, so beautiful, so exquisite... A hoot from behind has his eyes snapping open and returning to the road as he puts the car quickly in gear and drives.

When he gets to Thames House, he's still unsure if the vision in the car was a hangover induced fantasy, or a recollection from last night. It had a dream-like quality that didn't feel real, but then nothing feels right or real this morning, especially not his head. It seems that no matter how much water he drinks, his head still feels like it might explode at the slightest movement and he can't risk taking any more pain killers yet. He dearly wishes that he could have stayed in bed today... with Ruth. God, if only she hadn't looked at him like that...

“Morning, Harry,” Lucas smiles cheerfully. “Sleep well?”

Harry merely glares at him as he strides past to his office.

“What's up with him?” Tariq asks quietly.

“Rough night,” Lucas shrugs.


	6. Chapter 6

_Today, 1 am_

 

“Need a hand, love?” the cabbie asks good naturedly.

“No, thank you. I can manage,” Ros replies. “Here. Keep the change.”

“Thanks, love. Have a good one.”

“I'm not your love,” Ros mutters under her breath as she heaves Ruth up and steadies her as they make their way up the garden path to her house. She isn't unconscious but it's close, and Ros has to take most of her weight.

Ros fiddles with the keys as she waits for the cab to drive off. Once it's out of sight, she turns around and helps Ruth enter the passenger seat of her car. Then she drives over to Harry's house.

 

_Today, 23rd December, 10 am_

 

She'd actually driven over to his house last night! Her car had been parked on the street just outside, and when she'd seen it, she'd been flabbergasted. It's scary to think that she'd driven there, and not just because of the danger she'd put herself and others in by doing so while drunk. The fact that she would do such a thing when all her inhibitions had been removed by alcohol, underlines the extent and depth of her desire and love for Harry. And in that moment when she'd reached up and kissed him, she'd been finally ready to accept and embrace it; she'd been brave and prepared for the consequences of her actions. She'd wanted to throw aside everything that had held her back for so many years and just take the leap of faith that's required to be with Harry... but he'd stopped her and now... Now, she's no longer brave enough. All her barriers have sprung back up and they seem even more insurmountable than ever.

What the hell is wrong with the pair of them, she thinks angrily as she carries her cup of tea into her sitting room and places it on the coffee table before lying down on the sofa and pulling a blanket over herself. They can't talk about their feelings, can't express their love for each other in a normal, every day kind of way, keep misreading and misinterpreting each other's actions and words, and they have the most awful timing of any two people on the whole bloody planet! In those few seconds, she'd felt so free, light and open, and now the anger, hurt and guilt are back, weighing her down and keeping her isolated, alone.

She thinks of George and Nico, she thinks of Cyprus and her elegant, simple life, she thinks of herself, how she used to be, full of hope, desire, excitement and, yes, naivety. She sighs and wishes that she'd never left, never met George, never watched him die, never seen Nico's devastated face, never watched him board a plane without her, leaving her behind, alone, lonely, hurt, a mother without a child. The anger, guilt, and grief are like a millstone around her neck, and she can't get rid of it. She doesn't know how, doesn't know if it's even possible, or if she wants to.

 

 

_Today, 1:20 am_

 

The lack of traffic makes it a quick drive. She parks the car and gets out, moving quickly and quietly to the front door. She picks the lock and enters the house, going over to the alarm to check that it's off. It is. Good old Lucas. Then she returns to the car to get Ruth. She half carries her up the stairs and into the bedroom, easing her down onto the bed next to Harry. She removes Ruth's shoes and then Harry's as it looks like Lucas has taken her at her word, and literally, shoved Harry into bed. He's lying on his stomach, snoring away and doesn't even stir when Ruth mutters something incoherent and rolls over, pressing against his side.

“You'd better make this work,” she murmurs as she watches them for a moment. “I did my part. Now it's up to you.” She puts the car key in Ruth's bag, turns around, and leaves the room and then the house.

 


	7. Chapter 7

_Almost 2 months later, 14th February, 7 am_

 

She rushes out of the house in a panic, running to catch the bus. _Calm down_ , she tells herself. There has to be another explanation for it. It can't possibly be true. She gets on the bus and opens her book, but she stares unseeing at the pages in front of her. She'll just have to check, that's all, she decides. Closing the book, she turns to stare out the window instead, lost in a tumult of thoughts and emotions. A few moments later, however, something catches her eye, and she blinks before looking back out the window and catching a glimpse of what she needs. Jumping up, she presses the button and makes her way swiftly downstairs. Then getting off the bus as it stops, she calls out a hurried, “Thank you,” to the bus driver and dashes back towards the Boots she's glimpsed, barely registering the hearts and flowers that decorate the shops, proclaiming that it's Valentine's day.

She buys two just to make sure and rushes to the bathroom. Now she sits staring at them, willing them to... what? She doesn't know. Another surprise there. This morning when she'd realised, she'd panicked and had found herself almost praying for it not to be true. Now, however, almost an hour later, she's having second thoughts. This is her only chance really. It'll be hard, unpredictable, terrifying at times, but still her only chance. And she desperately wants that chance again. A sound outside the cubicle makes her almost jump as she's suddenly pulled out of her reverie and she looks down at the white sticks in her hands. Both are positive. She's pregnant... and she smiles.

 

 

_Almost 2 months earlier, 24th December, 11 am_

 

“Some paperwork for you to sign,” she murmurs as she walks up to his desk, not quite daring to meet his eye.

“Thanks,” he replies and begins to skim through it before autographing each page.

“Thank you,” she says as she picks it up and turns towards the door. Half way there, she pauses and turns back to face him. “I'm sorry, Harry, for the way I acted yesterday.” He looks up at her, his eyes searching hers, and she forces herself to continue. “I wanted you to know that I never intended to hurt you.”

His gaze softens and he murmurs, “It's okay, Ruth. I know you didn't deliberately set out to hurt me. I didn't mean to imply that you had. I too am sorry for what I said... Let's just forget it ever happened, yes?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but thinks better of it, and just nods and gives him a small smile before leaving his office.

 

 

_Almost 2 months later, 14th February, 3 pm_

 

There's a lull in the activity on the grid and she looks up from her terminal. She's already called her GP and ascertained that she doesn't need to go in to confirm her pregnancy; they'd just scheduled an appointment for her in three weeks time. Initially, she'd been surprised by this, but since then, she's researched the topic thoroughly during her lunch break and feels more comfortable. There's nothing much that needs to be done before the three month mark, except make sure that she eats well, sleeps well, drinks enough water, avoids drugs and alcohol (she's grateful that she hasn't had anything to drink since the night her baby was conceived), and takes Folic Acid supplements. Pretty easy stuff really.

She glances around the Grid; it seems almost empty. Ros and Lucas are out and Tariq's glued to his screen. A few junior officers are moving about with purpose, and Harry's staring down at something on his desk, deep in concentration. This will have to do. She gets up, and picking up a couple of files so as not to arouse suspicion, she heads to his office.

The door's closed and she pauses outside it, giving herself a brief pep talk. She doesn't want to have this conversation, but there's no longer any alternative. They've managed fine so far in ignoring what had happened between them after the Christmas party, and after an awkward week or so, they'd settled back into their old routine at work as if nothing had happened. Now, she's dreading having to bring it up, but there's no help for it. Sighing, she gives herself a mental shake before sliding his door open.

He looks up and she gives him a small, strained smile before turning and closing the door firmly behind her. That gets his attention and he sits up fully alert as she turns to face him. “What is it?” he asks, and when she fails to answer immediately, he begins to get up.

“No, don't,” she manages to say and sees his frown of concern deepen as he sits back down heavily. “It's just... easier to say this without you...” she gestures between them helplessly.

He waits, his mind working feverishly to figure out what might be so difficult for Ruth to tell him and not liking any of the answers he comes up with. “Well?” he says eventually.

She takes a deep breath, and forcing herself to look him in the eye, says, “I'm pregnant.”

That's so far removed from _any_ of the things he thought she might say, that he begins to doubt his hearing and comprehension of the English language. He stares at her.

“It's yours,” she adds as an afterthought, just in case he has any doubts.

That floors him. He swallows and attempts to speak but fails. He clears his throat. “But we... we didn't...”

“We must have, Harry,” she sighs. “There is no other way we could find ourselves in this situation.” She looks down at her hands and adds quietly, “I haven't... with anyone else... before or since... and neither have I had any other lapses in memory.”

He swallows again. “What are you going to do?”

She looks up at him with a puzzled frown. “What do you mean?”

“Are you...are you going to...?”

“Oh, I see,” she says as his meaning finally dawns on her. “No. I want to keep him... or her.” She wonders briefly why he thinks she's telling him this if she'll be terminating her pregnancy. Surely he doesn't think her so spiteful? But then she realises that he's in shock, not really thinking straight, and just asking the questions as they occur to him.

“Right... good,” he murmurs, still completely stunned.

“Look, Harry. I know this is a bit of a shock... actually, more like a hell of a shock for both of us... and we need time to work out what we want to do. I just thought you should know. I won't... I mean, I don't want...” She takes a deep breath and tries again. “I'm keeping my baby... our baby. I know that's what I want, but I wanted to tell you so that you could figure out what _you_ want... And then we can talk about it some other time when we've both had time to think.”

She smiles at him tentatively and he nods, still utterly shell shocked. She takes three steps forwards, puts the folders she's holding on his desk and leaves his office.


	8. Chapter 8

_Same day, 14th February, 3:15 pm_

 

He just stares at the door through which she's disappeared, lost in tumult of thoughts and emotions. Ruth is carrying his child - a child that has been conceived during an act that neither of them can really remember. The situation is so bizarre that he has difficulty believing that he isn't dreaming. He leans forwards and puts his head in his hands as his mind attempts to deal with this new development. Images of Ruth flick through his head, images from the past when she was full of enthusiasm, life, brilliance and naiveté, images from her return, battered, bruised, and intelligent as ever, but missing the joy and the sparkle that had been uniquely hers, that had drawn him to her in the first place. Images of a goodbye kiss on the docks, images of a reunion in a warehouse, and images he thought he'd lost in his drunken stupor, images of holding her in his arms, kissing her, touching her, whispering words of love, hearing her moans of pleasure, hearing her whisper his name as he impatiently slid inside her unable to wait even to remove the rest of his clothes, the feeling of bliss as he lay next to her afterwards, spent. Images of her eyes as they'd looked at him the following morning in alarm, in panic, in regret, stabbing at his heart repeatedly like daggers.

He stands up suddenly, sending his chair flying backward in his haste as he swipes his hand through the air in an effort to get rid of that last image. He opens his eyes and stares across the grid at the woman he's been thinking about, the woman he loves, the woman he desires, the woman he craves, the woman he is somehow unable to let go, the woman who is carrying his child... and he smiles.

 

_Ten days later, 24th February, 1 pm_

 

Smiling, he watches her eating her sandwich with gusto.

“What?” she asks as she glances up at him.

“Nothing.” She narrows her eyes at him and he adds, “I've just never seen you eat with so much... enthusiasm before.”

She raises her eyebrows at him and shrugs. “I have a good appetite. It makes it easier to remember to eat. Normally, I forget a lot.”

“No sickness?” he asks, remembering how Jane had suffered.

“None,” she grins, “and I know I'm lucky.” She turns back to her food and Harry continues to watch her as she eats. Eventually she frowns at his continued scrutiny and looks at him quizzically.

“You look...different,” he explains.

“How?” she asks, curious to know.

“Like you used to before... before you went away. You look...” _Beautiful, dazzling, radiant,_ he thinks but doesn't dare say any of it. Instead he settles on, “You look happy,” and there's a wistful look in his eyes as he says it.

She reaches across the table and squeezes his hand. “Thank you,” she smiles. “I feel better... lighter... content.”

He just nods, surprised by the contact, and continues to watch her eat, unable to look away from her sparkling eyes and radiant face. How he's missed this Ruth. This is _his_ Ruth; the one he'd fallen in love with, the one he'd never thought he'd see again. It feels so good to see her eyes sparkle like that.

He hadn't wanted any more children, mainly because he'd failed so spectacularly at being a father the first time round. Now, however, he's suddenly feeling extremely grateful for this baby for, not only is it making Ruth positively glow with happiness, it's already bringing them closer together than they have been in a very long time. They're sharing a meal and talking about something other than work, something personal.

“Are you going to eat that?” she asks, intruding on his thoughts.

“No.”

“May I?”

“Of course.” He pushes his plate over to her and she picks up the other half of his sandwich. He can never eat more than half; his body didn't need it. He's getting old and yet he'll soon be a father again. The thought both thrills and terrifies him at the same time.

“So, what have you decided?” she asks before she takes a bite of his sandwich.

“About what?”

“The baby,” she sighs in exasperation.

“What do you mean, decided?” he frowns.

“Do you want to be a part of his or her life? Do you want to help in some other way or not at all? Do you have any preference for names? Any or all of the above? Something else?” she shrugs.

“I _do_ want to be a part of his or her life. Of course I do, Ruth. I'm his dad!”

“Okay, good,” she smiles, relieved to hear him say that though she'd had little doubt that he would. Harry takes his responsibilities seriously, and he's certainly partly responsible for creating the little person that's currently growing inside her. “I have my first appointment on the 5th of March if you want to come.”

“I'd like that... if you wouldn't mind.”

“I'll put it in your diary. We'll call it operation... σύλληψη – Greek for conception,” she grins.

“Okay,” he smiles.

“Do you want a girl or a boy?” she asks, surprising herself by how easy it is to talk to him about this. It feels... natural, not a word she'd normally associate with the two of them. Harry has always made her feel tense and agitated, and though she can still feel the ever-present sexual tension between them, she's also feeling a strange calmness, something she's never experienced before when near him.

“I don't care as long as it's healthy.” This is a very odd kind of conversation to be having with Ruth but, at the same time, he loves the fact that it's a typical thing for a couple to talk about. If only they were a couple, this would be perfect.

“Neither do I. I don't want to know beforehand either. I want it to be a surprise.”

“That's fine. We won't find out. We... _I_ didn't know with Catherine or Graham.”

She smiles. “I keep forgetting you've done this before.”

“Not in a very long time," he sighs. He pauses and then confesses quietly, "I wasn't around much the first two times, and even when I was physically present, I was often mentally elsewhere. I was too focused on the job, on my carrier.”

She reaches for his hand again and squeezes it once more as she notices the regret and self-recrimination in his voice. “This is your chance to do it differently if you want to, Harry. I'll not stop you from seeing our child. I promise.”

“Oh, Ruth, if only...” he tails off and looks away to hide the sheen of tears in his eyes. “Excuse me a moment,” he says gruffly a few seconds later and gets up to visit the gents'.

Ruth watches him go and sighs. Much as she would like to be, she isn't ready yet. She isn't ready to give him what she suspects he so desperately wants. She hopes that there will be time for the two of them to act on the deep love they feel for each other. She's made some progress; she's seeing a therapist. She'd found a list of approved therapists that could be used by Security Service personnel, and she'd visited a couple before she'd found one she liked. She owes it to her unborn child to get rid of some of the baggage she's carrying. And she feels better these days, lighter and more cheerful, more like her old self. But she still has a long way to go, and she's worried that, trying now, will result in failure and will create another barrier between them and make things more difficult for their child. There's more than just the two of them to think of now.


	9. Chapter 9

_Three days later, 28th February, 9 am_

 

“Hello, Ruth,” he says, pausing at her desk for a moment.

“Hi, Harry,” she smiles up at him.

“How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Good,” he nods and walks away to his office.

Ruth shakes her head in exasperation and turns back to work. He's becoming quite obvious with his attentions now though, thankfully, only when they're on the Grid. She's sure the rest of the team have picked up on it. Surprisingly, however, it doesn't bother her. Somehow now that his attention and concern isn't focused solely on her, it defuses the intensity of it and she can cope with it. When he asks how she is every day, he's asking about his child, not just about her, and she finds it endearing rather than overwhelming as she would have done in the past. Plus, she doesn't really mind the rest of the team knowing. It's people who don't know her and Harry, and the depth of their feelings for each other, that she doesn't want to know. They'll think their relationship mercenary and she can't stand that.

She glances at his office and catches him watching her before he smiles sheepishly and turns back to work. It isn't unusual to find him doing so even before she'd discovered her pregnancy. She still can't quite believe that it had taken her almost _two months_ to notice it. Of course, her periods have never been particularly regular, and when she'd missed the first one in January, she'd just assumed that she hadn't ovulated that month. After all, it had happened to her before, and to be honest, she'd been so convinced that she and Harry hadn't had sex that she didn't even consider the possibility that she might be pregnant until she'd missed her second period.

Her memories from that night are pretty much non-existent. She has vague recollections, blissful feelings really without images, of them touching and kissing, but nothing more than that. Of course, she'd been naked which, in retrospect, should have aroused her suspicions, but he had not been and, at the time, this had been sufficient to allay her initial concerns. She'd just assumed that they'd done _something_ , but not _everything_. It was stupid really that she hadn't gone to the doctor anyway, but she can't really find it in herself to regret her decision. She does really want to have this baby. It's the kind of thing that she'd never have been able to go through with if she'd planned it. She can think of too many reasons not to, but now that she has it, she's truly thrilled about it.

It's just a shame really that she can't remember much. Part of her wants to be able to remember that night in great detail because... well, because it's _Harry_... however, another part of her knows that recollections like that would make things between her and Harry very awkward for her, and she doesn't want that. She's enjoying the closeness between them that has sprung up as a result of her pregnancy. It seems to have done away with a lot of the awkwardness that still lingered after George. She wonders briefly if Harry remembers more than she does about that night and then dismisses the idea quickly as it causes her undue embarrassment. Even if he does, it doesn't matter. She's already decided that she wants him. She wants a life with Harry and she's determined to build it. Slowly but surely, she'll fix her own life so that there's room in it for Harry and their child. Theirs is going to be a happily ever after kind of story, she'd decided the day after she'd found out about the baby. It's something she's never really believed in before. “In order to achieve something, Ruth,” her father used to say, “you have to believe it, visualize it, and work hard for it.” So that's what she's going to do, she thinks as she turns her mind back to work.

Across the room, Lucas smiles and goes to find Ros. “I think you did it,” he grins.

“Did what?”

“Harry and Ruth. That's the fourth time this week that I've seen him seek her out when he's entered the Grid, and he's been watching her much more than usual.”

“Yes, it's rather odd. For six weeks, there was nothing and then this week... Something's changed.”

“Perhaps Ruth is finally comfortable with more obvious attentions on the Grid.”

“Perhaps,” she replies and moves off to find Tariq.

 

 

_One week later, 5th March, 2 pm_

 

“Γειά σου, Ruth. Χέρομαι που σε ξαναβλέπω και συγχαρητήρια,” Dr. Alexiou smiles, embracing her gently.

“Γειά σου, Αφροδίτη,” she replies. “Είναι ωραία αλλαγή που επισκεύτομαι την κλινική για ένα χαρούμενο γεγονός.”

“Έχεις δίκιο,” the doctor chuckles and turns to Harry. “But we're being very rude, Ruth, unless of course you speak Greek too? Hello, I'm Dr. Alexiou.”

“Harry Pearce. Pleased to meet you. And no, speaking multiple languages is Ruth's talent, not mine,” he replies, shaking the doctor's hand.

“The father?” she asks after glancing down at the form Ruth had already filled in and dropped off last week.

“Yes.”

“Good. Welcome. Now, Ruth, Joan has already weighed you and measured your blood pressure. Everything seems fine at this stage. The urine and blood samples you gave us will be sent in for analysis and we'll ring you with the results. I have some information for you on the kinds of things you should be doing, what you should eat, what you should avoid in terms of food and exercise, that kind of thing.” Ruth nods and the doctor continues, “but first, I understand that you don't want to have your dating scan?”

“I know how many weeks,” Ruth blushes and glances at Harry. “We only... that is...”

“What Ruth is trying to say, Doctor,” Harry helps her out, “is that she and I are colleagues and friends, but are not currently in a relationship. We had a little too much to drink at the office Christmas party and, well... the rest, as they say, is history.”

“I see,” the doctor nods. “Well, that makes it easier to establish a due date at least, which is the 16th of September, yes?” Ruth nods and the doctor turns to Harry. “Given that you are present today, Mr. Pearce, I take it that you are willing to help Ruth through this pregnancy and with your child?”

“Yes.”

“I ask because it is important for you, Ruth, to have proper support during your pregnancy, but especially during delivery and after the baby's born. Giving birth is a wonderful, but exhausting experience, and you will need to rest afterwards. Given that the two of you are not living together, I would highly recommend that you look into hiring a doula to assist you both during delivery and post-partum. She should be able to help you plan the birth you want, support you through labour, and after the baby's born, help with the shopping, cooking, taking care of the baby while you sleep, helping you if you have any trouble nursing your newborn, that kind of thing. There is some information on doulas in the packet Joan gave you.” Ruth nods again. “Ruth, have you chosen what kind of care you wish to receive? Given your medical history, I don't feel the need to recommend obstetrical care, however, because of your age, I _would_ recommend that you choose GP-led or GP sole care.”

“I would like joined care with you and a midwife,” Ruth replies confidently.

“Okay, good. Our clinic works on a team basis, so it will be unlikely that you'll see the same doctor or midwife throughout your ante-natal care. Not to worry though, you're in good hands.” She smiles at Ruth. “Now, would you like me to see if we can pick up a heartbeat?” Ruth nods. “Okay, hop up here and we'll see if we can find this little one.” Ruth sits on the end of the examination table. “You don't need to undress, but, if you would pull down your skirt a little and your shirt up, it'll make my job a lot easier. I'll use a hand-held foetal heart monitor.”

Much as Harry wishes to watch, he turns his body so that he can see only Ruth's face, something she's very grateful for. Once she's lying down, the doctor feels around her abdomen gently and then applies a little, cold gel on her tummy before pressing the monitor against it. She moves it around a little and says, “If this is uncomfortable, let me know. We can stop any time you like. Like I said, it isn't always possible to find the baby this early on in the pregnancy. Let's see if this little one will cooperate.” She fiddles with the knobs and moves the device around some more as she murmurs, “Come on, sweetheart, Mummy and Daddy want to hear your heart beating.” Ruth glances at Harry. He's smiling and she realises that she is too. It's the first time someone has said those words out loud - mummy and daddy.

A moment later the room is filled with the sound of the baby's heart beating at an incredible speed. The doctor smiles and looks at Ruth. “It's so fast,” Ruth whispers.

“Yes, it is, but don't worry, that's normal.” She looks at her watch and times the beats for half a minute before declaring, “128 beats per minute. Nice and strong.”

Ruth looks at Harry again and their eyes hold as they both smile in delight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of Greek:
> 
> "Hello, Ruth. I'm glad to see you again and congratulations," Dr. Alexiou smiled, embracing her gently.
> 
> "Hello, Aphrodite," she replied. "It's a nice change to be visiting the clinic for a happy event."
> 
> "You're quite right," the doctor chuckled and turned to Harry.


	10. Chapter 10

_Two weeks later, 18th March, 8 am_

 

“Harry, I need to tell them soon. I'm really starting to show now.”

He glances up at her and watches her as she twists her hands together in apprehension while she looks out over the river.

“Do you want to tell them that it's mine?” he asks gently after a short internal struggle with himself. He's dreading the answer to this one.

“I don't mind the team knowing,” she answers immediately, so she's clearly given it some thought. “In fact, I don't see how we can avoid telling them. You've been so attentive to me lately that they'll never believe it's not yours. However, I'd rather it was not public knowledge. It would lead to awkward questions and inaccurate assumptions.”

“I appreciate that,” he replies, very relieved that he doesn't have to hide the truth from his team at least. “We can arrange to meet at doghouse three for lunch. Then you can tell them.”

“Okay,” she nods, twisting the fabric of her cardigan around now and biting her lip.

He places his hand on hers gently, stilling their motion, and waits until she turns to look at him. “It's going to be all right, Ruth. I promise.”

She sighs. “You can't promise that, Harry. You don't know how things will turn out. What if there's something wrong? Or I go into labour early? And even if everything's fine and I have our baby at the right time and it's healthy, what if... what if it ends up a hostage like Nico? What if no one's there this time to save him? What if they kill us and he's left all alone in the world? How will he bear it? How will I? Or you?”

Harry doesn't know what to say. That's not what he'd meant, but Ruth is opening up to him about her fears, and to his dismay, there's nothing he can say to reassure her. Nothing. But she knows that. She's his best analyst; she's worked it all out already. So perhaps all she wants is comfort. Someone to listen to her concerns and just be there. Without thinking too much about it, he shifts closer to her on the bench and gingerly places his arm around her shoulders.

“I know, Ruth,” he murmurs. “I know.”

And for once in his life, it appears that he's read the situation correctly and done the right thing because she turns into his shoulder and buries her face there, gripping his hand tightly as she fights against the tears that threaten to fall. And he holds her like that, selfishly enjoying one of the few opportunities he's had to hold her close, inhaling the soft scent of her hair, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, and caressing her shoulder in gentle, comforting circles.

She doesn't let him hold her long, pulling back far too soon and shaking her head at herself. “Sorry. I'm being silly.”

“No, Ruth. It's normal to worry about these things.”

She raises her eyebrows at him. “Normal to worry about hostage situations?”

“Well, perhaps not hostage situations,” he concedes with a small smile. “But normal to worry about the safety of your loved ones, especially your children. I do it all the time. The difficulty is to not let it rule your life and make you miserable.”

“I know,” she nods.

“It's not always easy,” he admits.

“I know that too.”

They sit there in silence for a few moments, looking out over the water, lost in thought.

“Thank you,” she murmurs eventually as she turns her gaze on him.

He looks at her and smiles, a genuine smile that reached his eyes and makes them twinkle at her. “It feels good to finally get something right with you,” he says. She laughs and he feels the warmth of it radiate through his body all the way to his toes and settle in his heart. “I seem to be on a roll here,” he adds with a grin, and it makes her laugh again.

They hold each other's gaze for a long time until Ruth begins to feel self-conscious, and glancing swiftly down at her hands and then back up at his face, she says, “Come on. We'd better get back to work. You know, information to analyse, people to save, terrorist plots to avert, and politicians to appease.”

He grimaces at her last words as she gets up and extends her hand towards him. He takes it gladly and lets her pull him to his feet before reluctantly releasing it as, slowly, he slides his fingertips across her palm and down her fingers. The sensation is exquisite, and it makes his skin tingle and his body ache for more. He wants her so much, so desperately, but he's petrified that she'll push him away if he makes any move towards her, or worse, accept him and then change her mind again. So fighting back the urge to pull her into his arms, he balls his hand into a fist and set off towards Thames House at a brisk pace with Ruth right beside him.

 

 

_Same day, 18th March, 1 pm_

 

Tariq takes a sip of his beer and says, “So, what's this about then?”

Harry looks at Ruth making Lucas and Ros exchange knowing glances, however, even they are unprepared for what exactly Ruth is going to say. She nods at Harry, takes a deep breath, and murmurs quietly, “I'm pregnant.” There's a stunned silence as everyone stares at her for a long moment. Then all eyes turn to Harry, making Ruth smile and say, “See? I told you so.”

Harry grins; he can't help it. There's a pause and then Lucas reaches over and hugs Ruth murmuring, “Congratulations, Ruth.”

“Thank you, Lucas,” she beams.

Lucas releases her with a warm smile and offers his hand to Harry across the table. “Congratulations, Harry.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait, you're...” Tariq tails off as Ros silences him with a look. “Right,” he adds. “Congratulations, Ruth, Harry,” he says.

“Yes, congratulations. Hopefully the kid will get its mother's brains and its father's balls, so to speak,” Ros adds in her usual frank manner.

Her statement strikes Ruth as funny, and she begins to laugh so hard that tears start to roll down her cheeks and she doubles over, gasping for breath. Her laughter is contagious and everyone else is unable to stop themselves from joining in as they watch her. “Oh, God, Ros. I haven't laughed like that in ages. Thank you,” Ruth chuckles when her laughter finally subsides and she wipes away the tears from her cheeks. “I actually have a stitch now.”

“Glad I'm still able to provide some comic relief. I was beginning to worry that I was getting far too serious. So I take it that the parentage of Ruth's child is to remain a secret?”

“Exactly,” Harry replies.

“Why?” Tariq asks and immediately regrets it as everyone turns to stare at him.

“Because, you thick headed nitwit,” Ros replies in exasperation, “there are many people who would use the fact that the Head of Section D is having an affair with his analyst, who is carrying his child, against him to further their own agenda.”

“Oh, right, of course,” Tariq murmurs. “Sorry.”

“Actually, we're not-” Ruth begins but she's interrupted.

“Ruth, not now,” Harry shakes his head.

“But-”

“I think, if you continue that sentence, you will rapidly move into the general area of awkward conversation with the potential of plummeting rather swiftly into the 'too much information' category.”

Ruth closes her mouth. Everyone else looks from Ruth to Harry in surprise.

“Problem?” Harry asks, giving them his most intimidating stare.

“No,” Tariq murmurs and Lucas shakes his head and turns his attention to his beer.

Only Ros keeps staring at him, holding his gaze patiently until he gives in. After all, if Ruth wants the team to know that they aren't sleeping together, he might as well get it over with before it becomes one more source of friction between them.

Harry sighs. “All right. What Ruth wishes you to know is that, contrary to what you might have concluded based on the evidence before you, she and I are not, in fact, having an affair. It appears to have been a one off event that will not be repeated in the foreseeable future.” He pauses and then mumbles quietly, “Though not from lack of wanting to on my part.”

Despite the relatively high level of background noise coming from the other occupants of the pub they currently find themselves in, Ros and Ruth both hear the last remark as they're sitting next to him and he doesn't say it as quietly as he intended. Ros smirks and Ruth huffs indignantly, “If I recall correctly, Harry, which I do, seeing as my memory is impeccable, _you_ were the one who refused any further hanky-panky in your bedroom.”

Lucas chokes on his beer, Ros's smirk broadens, Tariq looks up at Ruth and then Harry and hastily takes an interest in his empty beer mug, and Harry just gapes at her, completely lost for words. The Ruth he knows is shy and reserved, however, pregnant Ruth, it appears, is as bold as brass and uses words like hanky-panky, something that, unfortunately, he's beginning to find really turns him on. She glares at him for a moment before she excuses herself to go to the bathroom.

“Bloody hell,” Lucas mutters after he's managed to stop coughing.

“Yeah,” Tariq adds in bewilderment. “What the hell happened to gentle, quiet Ruth?”

“Hormones, Tariq,” Ros says knowingly, “hormones. Just stay in her good books until she's had this baby... Still, it could come in handy. Next time the Home Secretary pisses you off, Harry, just send Ruth to have a word with him. She'll put him in his place for you.” She winks at him and gets up. “Well, this was fun, but I have work to do. See you all back at the Grid.”


	11. Chapter 11

_About two months later, 20th May, 9 am_

 

“So,” Lucas is saying, “we know that they're-”

A gasp from Ruth interrupts his speech and everyone turns to look at her. She's sitting next to Harry as usual, and ignoring his concerned, “What's wrong?” she grabs his hand and places it on her protruding stomach. To say he's surprised by the contact would be an understatement, but seconds later he forgets all about it when he feels it; the baby kicks his hand.

“Did you feel it?” she asks eagerly, her eyes sparkling in excitement.

He nods and smiles into her eyes while the rest of the team look on at the happy couple before them, unable once more to understand why they can't put aside all their differences and see what's so obvious to all of them - that they're perfect together.

 

 

_About two weeks later, 6th June, 10:30 pm_

 

The pod swings open and Harry enters the grid and walks towards his office, looking exhausted. He glances towards Ruth's table expecting it to be empty, but a pair of familiar, blue eyes are watching him with concern. He tilts his head slightly in invitation, and she immediately gets up and follows him into his office. He goes straight to his decanter and pours himself a generous measure of whisky.

“Ruth, why are you still here?”

She frowns at him and chooses to ignore the question. “Any more news, Harry?”

“No,” he sighs, “but in this case, no news is bad news.”

She nods and moves to stand next to him, her eyes over bright and filled with sadness and concern for him as she scans his face. “I'm sorry, Harry.”

He seeks her eyes out with his own, taking the comfort and strength that they always give him so willingly. He nods, and without conscious thought, he reaches up and pushes a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. She gives him a small smile and he murmurs, “Go home, Ruth. Get some rest.” She opens her mouth to protest, but he doesn't let her. “Please, Ruth. I need to know that you're taking care of yourself and our child. It's late.”

She looks at him carefully for a moment, seeing the strain of the last few hours written clearly across his features and realising that he needs her to do this for him, so that he has one less thing to worry about. She nods and reaches up to place a kiss on his cheek, taking him by surprise. “I'll go home. I hope you get some rest soon too, Harry.”

She turns and makes her way out of his office, pausing at the door to look at him once more before she leaves to get her things. She makes her way home, but once she's eaten and got into bed, she feels so alone and so very sad. She wants Harry here with her right now and she wishes, now more than ever, that they'd worked things out between them, that they'd managed to get their timing right, that they were on the same page for once in their life. But then she realises how futile such a wish is because, even if they'd managed to do all that, Harry wouldn't have been home tonight. His place is still at work, sorting through the nightmare that Nightingale has created through all their recent actions which culminated in today's blowing up of the hotel. So no matter how much she needs him here to comfort her, to share the burden of her grief, he wouldn't have been able to be here for her even if he'd wanted to.

They'd lost Ros today. From Harry's manner, she'd understood that there's no hope, that she's gone. Ros, their strong, almost fearless leader, is no more. She hugs herself tightly and soon the tears start to fall, and she sobs against her pillow in grief, crying herself to sleep.

 

 

_About two weeks earlier, 23rd May, 2:30 pm_

 

Ruth feels the baby kick again and smiles. The excitement she feels every time this happens isn't wearing off though the midwife has assured her that it will, especially when it begins to happen a lot at night. Reaching out to her right, she grabs the hand of the person next to her and places it on her stomach saying, “Do you feel it?” She looks up to find Ros staring at her and immediately releases her hand and murmurs an apology, but to her surprise, Ros smiles and leaves her hand on her protruding stomach.

“Those are strong kicks,” she says. “It must be a girl. It'll be up to you to bring her up as strong as the all women of Section D, Ruth.”

“I'll do my best, Ros, but I'm sure I could use some help with that. If it's a girl, she'll need good, strong, female role models and I can't think of a better one than you. Would you like to be her godmother?”

Ros stares at her for a moment, her eyes betraying for a split second the surprise and pleasure Ruth's words bring to her, before replying in her usual, mildly sarcastic tones, “As long as I don't have to be a fairy godmother. I'm afraid my magical powers are not what they used to be.”

“I don't know, Ros,” a passing Lucas comments with a smile. “Your magical powers certainly did the trick the last time you tested them out.”

Ruth looks at Ros quizzically, but she just shrugs and returns to her work.


	12. Chapter 12

 

_About two weeks later , 8th June, 10:30 pm_

 

“Ruth, what are you doing?”

“Accepting your offer of a lift, Harry. Good evening, Mike.”

“Good evening, Ms Evershed.”

“Ruth, please call me Ruth.”

He smiles. On the handful of occasions that he's given Ms Evershed a lift, she always goes against protocol and asks him to use her first name, something he's uncomfortable doing. It's like a long standing joke between them. He always starts by trying to get away with calling her Ms Evershed, and she always corrects him with a smile. She really is a lovely lady, he thinks.

“Good evening, Ms Ruth,” he says and she smiles, though her smile doesn't quite reach her eyes today. Mike doesn't blame her. He knows Sir Harry's team has suffered a loss recently and he's very sorry for that. Mike waits until Ruth gets in the back of the car with Sir Harry and then closes the door before moving round to take his seat behind the wheel. “Where to first, Sir?”

“Sir Harry's house, please,” Ruth replies.

“Ruth, what are you doing?”

“I told you. I'm accepting your offer of a lift.”

“And when did I make this offer, Ruth, because I can't recall doing so.”

“Doesn't surprise me in the least with your memory, Harry.”

“Funny,” he murmurs and his lips form a slight pout.

They're quiet for a few moments as Mike pulls out into the road and begins the arduous task of negotiating London's traffic. Then she says, “Actually, it was about a month ago.”

“What was?” he asks distractedly.

“Your offer of a lift.”

He makes an exasperated sound and turns to look out the window. They remain silent for the remainder of the journey, staring out the windows at the familiar sights of London. It feels good to be in each other's company and they take comfort from the knowledge that they're together, even if only for a brief time.

“We're here, Sir Harry,” Mike says a little while later and gets out of the car. He holds the door open for his boss. “Good night, Sir.”

“Good night, Mike,” Harry replies in a weary voice.

“Good night, Mike,” Ruth echoes as she too gets out of the car.

“Good night, Ms Ruth,” replies a surprised Mike, though he hides it quite well.

“Ruth, what are you doing?”

“I'm inviting myself in for a cup of tea, Harry.”

“Ruth, I'm in no mood for games or company tonight.”

“I know that, Harry,” she says gently. “No games, I promise... But we both need a friend after... after Ros.” Her voice quivers as she says her name and Mike finds himself hoping that Sir Harry will accept her offer.

Harry doesn't say anything, merely turns and begins to walk towards the house. Ruth nods at Mike and he smiles back, grateful that Sir Harry has someone to look out for him. Mike admires and respects his boss and has seen the toll his work has taken on him over the last few years first hand. Lately he'd noticed an improvement in his manner, the way he walks and talks, and they've been fewer worry lines on his face, but all that had changed two days ago after the bomb at the hotel. Now, Sir Harry walks as if the weight of the entire world rests on his shoulders. The last two nights he'd driven him home at three in the morning, and he's sure that Sir Harry was up at the crack of dawn as usual. He doubts that he'd got any sleep. At least today, he's home at a reasonable hour.

Ruth follows Harry into the house and watches as he disables the alarm and shrugged off his coat, hanging it up and pulling off his shoes. She copies his motions and follows him into the living room.

“Drink,” he asks as he loosens his tie and picks up the decanter to pour himself a large measure of single malt.

“All right; just a very small one,” she replies.

He looks up at her startled as if seeing her for the first time. She's almost six months pregnant now and showing beautifully. His eyes soften and he sighs, “I'm sorry, Ruth. I forgot.”

She takes a step forward and shakes her head, “Don't be. You've had a lot on your mind. We all have.”

He nods and pours her a tiny amount of whisky before holding out the glass for her.

“Thank you,” she murmurs as she takes it from his hand, letting their fingers brush against each other briefly, craving the physical contact between them if only for a second. “To Ros.”

“Ros,” he repeats as they raise their glasses and take a sip of the amber liquid, though in Harry's case it's more of a gulp.

Ruth makes her way over to the sofa and takes a seat, but Harry turns towards the window and looks out into the stillness of his back garden. The sounds of the city intrude every so often into their cocoon of silence, a car starting, the hoot of a horn, the occasional bark of a dog. Suddenly Ruth realises what's missing. “Where's Scarlet?” she asks.

“With Wes Carter,” Harry replies. Ruth's surprised by this but says nothing more. As if sensing her unspoken question, however, Harry continues, “I left her with him after Adam... He always liked dogs, and Scarlet was getting on in years and I wasn't home enough for her. It seemed like the right thing to do for both of them.”

Ruth smiles softly at his back, marvelling at how sweet a man he is at times. It's always surprised her that a man in his profession can be so soft hearted at his core. It's one of the contradictions in his character that had ignited and now holds her interest in him and strengthens her love for him.

Her quiet reverie has lasted too long for a response to seem appropriate, so she doesn't reply to his statement. Instead she says, “I never liked Ros, you know.” He doesn't say anything, but a subtle change in his posture tells her that he's surprised by her opening remark and is waiting for her to continue. “She was always so... distant. With Zoe, Sam, or Jo, I could talk about things, relationships, films... you know, things. But Ros was different. Then after I left, I actually hated her for some time. Of course, not as much as Oliver Mace, but she was a close second. It took me a while to let go of that anger and sense of betrayal. I realised eventually that, even if Ros hadn't done what she did in her anger against you, Mace would have found another way to use me to get to you. I was an easy target, and eventually, I accepted that maybe I had suffered the lesser of the evils that Oliver Mace could inflict.”

She pauses here and waits to see if Harry will say anything. When he remains silent, sipping his drink and still staring out of the window, she continues. “All that changed recently though. In the last few months, I felt a real connection to Ros. It was strange; I felt as if she'd finally accepted my importance to you and vice versa, and she was making an effort to forge some kind of a bond between us. And she was particularly taken with our baby. The other day I felt it move, and without thinking, I grabbed Ros's hand and put it on my stomach. After I realised what I'd done, I let her hand go and mumbled an apology, but she just smiled and kept her hand there until the baby stopped kicking. Then she said that she thought it was going to be a girl and that I need to make sure that she turns out as strong as all the women of section D.”

Harry makes a sound that's a cross between a chuckle and a sob, and Ruth feels tears spring to her eyes and begin to slide down her cheeks at the memory. “But I think now, I can safely say, that she was your brightest and your best, Harry. She had the intensity, the dedication of Tom, but she was stronger than him and stronger than Adam. She was much more like you – able to put the personal aside for the greater good, like you do time and again. I know from speaking with Jo that you and Ros had a connection that was strong, forged in battle, and I could never understand it. But I can see now that, though you have worked with many fine officers over the years, she was much more than just your Section Chief; she was like family to you.” She can see that Harry's fighting hard to retain his composure at this point, and even though her own voice is steady as she speaks, tears are streaming down her face freely.

She stands up and approaches him, placing her hand on his shoulder gently before murmuring, “You need to grieve, Harry. You need to grieve the loss of your lieutenant, the brightest of your brightest, the best of your best. The one who could have replaced you when you retired and done an admirable job.” Then she feels it; his shoulders begin to shake as the silent sobs wrack his body, and she cries with him for the lost of a fine officer and a friend as she rubs a comforting hand across his shoulders.


	13. Chapter 13

_Same day, 8th June, 11:30 pm_

 

Harry wipes the tears away roughly and squares his shoulders, causing Ruth to pull her hand away. He misses her touch immediately, and not for the first time, wishes that he could pull her close and never let her go. He clears his throat instead, and turning to face her, he murmurs, “I'm sor-” But he never gets to finish his sentence as her finger presses gently across his lips to silence him.

“You apologize too much, Harry,” she smiles, despite the tears that are shimmering in her eyes.

He holds her gaze for long moments as he wages an internal battle against his desire to pull her into his arms, his self-control rapidly slipping away.

His lips move gently in a motion reminiscent of a kiss, and she suddenly realises that her finger is still pressing lightly against them. She lowers her hand slowly to her side and clears her throat. “Now, when's the last time you slept?” she asks. He shrugs. “I thought as much. You should go to bed, Harry.”

When he doesn't move, she reaches for his hand and takes the empty tumbler out of it, placing it on the table, and taking his hand in hers, she begins to lead him to the stairs. He follows her mutely, exhausted from three days of working without sleep and the recent release of his pent up emotions.

Once inside his bedroom, Ruth says, “Go have a hot shower, Harry, and then I promise to give you a demonstration of one of my many hidden talents.”

He turns to her, startled by her statement, and murmurs, “Ruth, I don't think that's-”

“Harry!” she exclaims in exasperation as it becomes obvious where his thoughts have headed, “I am _not_ talking about sex!” Then seeing the flash of pain in his eyes despite the astonished expression on his face at her mention of the word sex, she adds gently as she lowers her eyes to look at her hands, “Not that it wouldn't be nice if we...” She clears her throat and looks up at him again. He's staring at her in surprise and there's a warmth in his gaze that wasn't there a moment ago. She wonders briefly how he cannot be aware of how much she wants him, and she has to fight down the urge to tell him all the hopes she entertains for their future together. Knowing that he's exhausted right now and so this really isn't the right time for that, she forces herself to continue. “I was referring to a back rub. You're dead on your feet, Harry, and I'm going to take care of you, just like you took care of me and our little one over the last two days by sending me home to rest despite my protests. So be a good boy now and go have that shower.” She's relieved to see a small smile appear on his lips.

“Nobody's called me a boy in a _very_ long time, Ruth,” he says as he shrugs off his jacket and slips off his tie.

“That's because they don't know you as well as I do,” she smiles and takes his jacket and tie from his hands before turning away from him towards the wardrobe to hang them up. “Sometimes, Harry, you act a lot like one.”

“And you're an expert, are you, Ruth?”

“No, though I did have one for a year or so,” she murmurs quietly, “and I can tell you that he also didn't understand the importance of a good night's sleep, and if I'd let him, he'd have been up all night, every night reading.” She turns back towards him and notices him watching her with a look of regret on his face. He opens his mouth to say something, but she doesn't let him. “Don't apologize, Harry. What happened, happened, and all we can do is try to deal with it and move on. Now, stop stalling, and get in that shower. I'm going downstairs to get my bag.”

So while Harry's in the bathroom, Ruth goes back downstairs, and after washing away the remaining traces of her tears at the bathroom sink, she enters the kitchen to get a bowl and see what oil she can find. She's pleasantly surprised to find a small bottle of olive oil. She pours some oil into the bowl and carries it upstairs along with her bag. She's just turning down the covers when Harry re-enters the room. Ruth smiles at him and moves out of his way as he gets into bed and lies down.

“Now take your shirt off and roll over,” she murmurs and when she sees him about to protest she adds with a smile, “I promise to behave like a perfect lady and not take advantage of you, Sir Harry.” He sighs, and removing his t-shirt, he lies down on his stomach.

Gently Ruth rubs oil onto his back and begins to massage the tension from the muscles in his shoulders, very much enjoying having the opportunity to touch him like this. Giving Harry a massage has been a fantasy she's entertained for many years now, and of course in her fantasies, the massage always progresses into something much more enjoyable for both of them.

Feeling the desire begin to bubble up inside her, she makes an effort to rein in her wondering thoughts and says, “Bloody hell, Harry. No wonder you can't sleep. There are so many knots here that I'll need a whole troop of scouts to help me unravel them.”

He chuckles lightly and then moans in pleasure as she begins to work on him in earnest, putting to use the massage skills she'd learned in Cyprus at the hospital where she'd worked. She'd been a little bored, to tell the truth, in her simple, elegant life after a while, and she'd taken classes in healing during her free time; massage, Aromatherapy and Reflexology to be precise.

“You're right, Ruth,” he murmurs after a few minutes. “This is some hidden talent you have, though I fear that no one will take me seriously tomorrow when I turn up at work smelling of roses.”

“Lavender, Harry,” she smiles, “to help you relax and sleep. And don't worry, by tomorrow the smell will have dissipated. Though personally, I think that the great Harry Pearce could turn up smelling of a veritable garden of flowers, and no one would dare bat an eyelid let alone refuse to take him seriously.”

“You're good for my ego, Ruth.”

“Right now, I'm trying to be good for your health, Harry, so shut up and go to sleep.”

“Yes, Mum.”

Ruth chuckles. “That's more like it,” she says and sees him smile.

Though Ruth's touch had served to make Harry more tense initially, and he'd had some difficulty in controlling his desire to turn around and kiss her senseless, he slowly begins to relax as her fingers expertly probe his tense muscles, and by the time Ruth finishes massaging his shoulders and back, he's succumb to his fatigue and fallen asleep. Gently she pushes the covers over him and begins to massage his feet, paying careful attention to all the areas she's learned about in her Reflexology class, especially those in which there is tension.

When she's completed her task, she's exhausted but satisfied that she's helped him relax and get some much needed rest. She lies down next to him on top of the covers and watches him sleep for a few minutes. It's wonderful to have the opportunity to study his face without being under the scrutiny of his keen, hazel eyes. His is not a particularly handsome face, but it's one she loves so dearly, and as she lies there studying his features, she realises that it would be quite something to have the opportunity to do this every night and finds herself fervently hoping that, one day soon, she will.


	14. Chapter 14

_Early next morning, 9th June, 5 am_

 

Harry opens his eyes to find Ruth pressed up against him and whimpering in her sleep. She's also shivering. “Ruth?” he says softly and touches her cheek with the back of his fingers. Her skin is cold and he suddenly realises that she's lying on top of the covers and must be freezing. He sits up and swears when the covers fall away and the cold air wraps itself around his naked torso. Reaching over to the bedside table, he grabs the t-shirt that he'd discarded last night and pulls it on before shaking Ruth's shoulder, saying, “Ruth, wake up. You're freezing.”

She opens her eyes slowly and gives him a warm, sleepy smile. “Harry,” she breathes.

For a moment, he remains frozen on the spot by the warmth of her gaze. She's pleased to see him and for a few glorious seconds his heart soars. There's no panic, no fear, no regret in her eyes, just pleasure and love, and his emotions in that moment are so intense that he feels tears spring to his eyes. He swallows hard and wipes swiftly at his eyes with his fingers and thumb. Then he feels her shiver again.

“What are you doing on my bed outside the covers, Ruth?” he demands gruffly.

“What?” she replies, suddenly wide awake, and sits up. “Oh, I'm sorry, Harry. I must have dozed off. I'll call a cab and go home.”

“You will do no such thing. Get under the covers, Ruth. You're going to catch your death.”

“No, Harry. I'm fine. I'll-”

“ _Ruth_ ,” he warns as he begins to lose his patience with her. Why does every single thing have to be such a battle with this woman? “I am not about to let you leave this house, this early in the morning, when you're already shivering. It isn't good for you and it certainly isn't good for the baby. Get under the covers.” She opens her mouth to protest but before she can say anything he growls, “That's an order, Ruth.”

“An order?!” she demands as her eyes flash in indignation, “Harry, you have _no_ right-”

“Oh, for Pete's sake, you stubborn...” He pauses. They stare at each other for a moment as both of their thoughts drift back to the last time Harry had called her stubborn and, almost simultaneously, their gazes soften and the corners of Ruth's mouth begin to twitch.

“Old mule?” she can't resist asking with a mischievous grin.

He sighs. “Ruth, you are by far the most stubborn human being I have ever encountered, and quite frankly, I think that, were you to conduct a proper scientific analysis on the subject, you would find that you are, at the very least, ten times more stubborn than any mule on this earth. Now stop fussing and arguing, woman, and _please_ get under the covers right _now!_ ”

Ruth stares at him for a moment, a smile still playing on her lips, and then slides into bed next to him, saying, “Well, at least you remembered the magic word this time, Harry, though, between you and me, you need to work on the tone of your voice when you employ it in your speech.”

“Ruth, I swear, if you don't stop quibbling, I'm going to have you disciplined for insubordination,” he says in exasperation at he pinches the bridge of his nose and prays for patience. It's too early in the morning for verbal sparing, especially since he's still in bed. On the Grid he can handle it, but here is _his_ space, his domain, his sanctuary, his bloody castle.

“Mmmm,” Ruth suddenly grins. “That sounds like fun. Is that something that can be done in bed?”

There's a short silence as Harry recovers from the shock of Ruth being so blatantly provocative and the surprise of finding his body responding quite rapidly to the provocation. He closes his eyes and attempts to calm his breathing, which has suddenly become much shallower. Still reeling from the sudden shift in Ruth's demeanour from argumentative to outrageously flirtatious, he swallows and clears his throat.

“Okay, who the hell are you and what have you done with Ruth Evershed?” he asks in an attempt to diffuse the situation. She chuckles and rubs her hands up and down her arms to warm up. She shivers a little and Harry's gaze softens as concern for her floods his mind once more, pushing aside everything else. He clears his throat again, and throwing caution to the wind, he says tentatively, “You'd warm up quicker if we... er... if we shared body heat."

She looks at him seriously for a moment, watching him squirm under her gaze and wondering how many people could claim to have the power to make the legendary Harry Pearce squirm. Probably less than a handful, she decides before she relents and smiles. “Is this part of the discipline you seem to think necessary?”

He groans and rubs his face with his hands as he takes a couple of deep breaths, before he lowers his hands once more and replies, “Just... shut up and come here.” Then without stopping to think about it, he lies down, pulls her into his embrace, and begins to rub her back in gentle, comforting circles. She nestles her face into his neck, resting her head on his arm, and folds her hands and arms between them.

“This is nice,” she murmurs, and as they lie cocooned together under the duvet, she hums in satisfaction as his warmth seeps through her and his smell envelopes her. Lying in his arms like this is pure bliss, she decides and is momentarily tempted to seduce him, feeling certain that she'll succeed quite easily this time. However, as the seconds tick by, she becomes aware of just how tired she truly is. She hasn't been sleeping well since Ros died and having Harry's arms around her is making her feel safe, loved, protected, and extremely drowsy all of a sudden.

“Ruth?” he murmurs a few moments later.

“Mmmm?” she replies sleepily.

“Nothing,” he answers when he realises that she's almost asleep. “It's nothing. Go to sleep.”

She makes a soft humming sound and slowly drifts off to sleep.

Harry holds her close but can't sleep. In fact Ruth's words are bouncing around inside his head and in combination with her physical proximity are making him more and more aroused by the second. Desperately he seeks something, anything to take his mind off Ruth, but all his attempts fail. At least her baby bump is large enough by now to keep their pelvic areas well apart, he thinks as his physical response intensifies. Soon he won't be able to hold back, he realises, and despite the fact that, after her admission last night and her shameless flirting just now, he knows she would welcome his advances, she's obviously exhausted and she needs rest. It occurs to him that she's probably not been sleeping well either over the past few days, and he silently berates himself for not taking better care of her. Then with a pang, he remembers that she isn't his to take care of and he wonders if, now that they have made so much progress and have grown so close, closer than he'd ever dared hope, she'd consider being with him, together, as a couple. Certainly the way she'd taken care of him last night is a strong indication that she would, but he can't be certain unless he talks to her first. Soon, he promises himself, soon he'll ask her and they'll talk.

So with one last attempt at self-control, he begins to extract himself from bed. He almost manages to work his way out without waking her, but at the last moment, she rolls towards him, and with her eyes still closed, she murmurs sleepily, “Stay, Harry. Don't go.”

He swallows and replies in a slightly strained, husky voice, “I have to, Ruth. I have to go to work. Go back to sleep.”

She whimpers once in protest, but then murmurs, “Okay,” and pulls the covers tighter around herself. He smiles down at her, indulging his desire to watch her for a few moments before he turns towards the bathroom. He's almost there when he hears her mumble, “Love you.” He freezes, and then as if in slow motion, he slowly turns to face her, but her eyes are closed and she's asleep.

He gazes at her longingly for several moments, fighting his desire to go back to bed, curl up into her warmth, and never leave. “I love you too,” he whispers.


	15. Chapter 15

_One week later, 15th June, 2 pm_

 

“I have something to tell you,” she says.

“And I you. A turn around the grounds?”

They walk around the churchyard enjoying the sunshine despite the sorrow of the occasion, until eventually they come to stand near a fence overlooking a park. Ruth gazes across the landscape as Harry stands by her side, his body turned towards her. “I feel like she's trying to tell us something,” Ruth says quietly. “Like this was what was missing from her life.”

Harry nods slightly and leans in closer, and as she gazes out over the beautiful, English landscape before her, she comes to a realisation. It isn't an epiphany because she's been thinking about it for several months now, working through the many barriers she's erected to protect herself over the years, learning to deal with the guilt she carries with her, some of it since childhood, and facing her fears, regrets, and desires for the future. But right here, right now, everything comes together in her mind, and she suddenly knows what she wants, part of what she wants, or at least exactly what she doesn't want any more.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but she beats him to it. “I can't do this any more, Harry,” she says. Her words cut through him like a knife and he moves his body slowly away from her; so slowly that she doesn't notice. “I'm handing in my notice,” she continues. “I'll work until my maternity leave and then I'd like to be decommissioned.”

He's completely lost for words. Ruth's leaving him _again_. She turns to look at him and notices his serious expression for the first time, but she can't read his face. His eyes, normally so expressive, so open to her, are closed off and it alarms her. “Harry, please, say something,” she pleads, realising belatedly that she should have told him this at another time, not right after the funeral of his Section Chief. She knows how much he relies on her at work and how hard it will be for him to replace her as well as Ros.

“Well, Ruth,” he replies in a steady, controlled voice. “There doesn't appear to be a lot for me to say. It seems you've made your decision.”

“I don't want to live in this world any more, Harry,” she tries to explain. “I don't want to lose any more colleagues, any more friends. I don't want to have to hire a nanny so that I can work all hours of the day and night and miss so many moments of our child's life. I want a normal, simple life again. Especially now that I will have someone waiting for me at home at the end of each day.”

Harry nods. He understands, of course he understands, but that doesn't make it any easier. He should have expected this, he tells himself. Only a career woman would give up staying with her child to work all hours of the day and night and put herself, and possibly her child, in harm's way in the process. Ruth has never been interested in her career. The fact that she's remained in her present position without seeking promotion for so long makes this perfectly obvious. He wipes a weary hand over his eyes. Dear God, the pain. Just when he'd allowed himself to hope once more, to dream of a life with her, with their child, together. It seems like he's destined to never get it right with Ruth, this woman that he loves so completely.

“I understand, Ruth,” he murmurs. “I'll-” He's interrupted by his phone ringing. He fishes it out of this pocket and looks at the caller ID. “Yes?” he answers. “No... Are you sure? I'll be right there.” He ends the call and turns back to Ruth. “We're needed on the grid. I'll take care of your decommissioning when the time comes.”

He turns to leave but her next words call him back. “Harry, there's something else.”

“Ruth-” he begins to object but she interrupts him.

“It's about Nightingale. Nightingale conspirators.” She digs into her bag and produces a folder. “They buried their trails deeper than I've ever seen, but last night we came up with something.” She opens the folder and shows it to him. Harry's utterly incredulous as he looks at the photograph of the former Home Secretary. He glances from the photo to Ruth and back again. “He was part of the inner circle, Harry,” Ruth says. “He gave the order to bomb the hotel.”

“But,” Harry stammers, “they smeared him. They forced him to resign.”

“It was a smoke screen. Everything's in there,” she nods at the folder.

Harry can't believe it. He feels nauseous. First Ros's death, then Ruth's loss, and now _this_. He grabs the railing with his hands and squeezes it until his knuckles turn white. Despair washes over him and he begins to breath hard with the strain of it all. “Ever feel like you just can't go on, Ruth,” he says in a hoarse voice.

“Can't go on; must go on,” Ruth replies sadly, knowing that now isn't the time to point out that that's exactly why she wants to leave MI-5.

 

 

_Next day, 16th June, 11:30 pm_

 

“Ruth?” he says as he shakes her shoulder.

“Mmmm?” she murmurs as she wakes.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, walking over to his decanter and pouring himself a drink. He's going to need it.

“Oh, Harry,” she says, sitting up abruptly. “I wanted to talk to you, but you weren't in, and I didn't think you'd appreciate it if I waited for you on your doorstep.”

“So you thought I'd prefer it if you broke into my house instead?” he asks a little harshly.

“Technically, it wasn't breaking in since I used the key that you gave me last week,” she bristles. “Anyway, since you generally seem to take an interest in my well-being and it's cold at this time of night, I thought you wouldn't mind. Obviously, I was wrong.”

He sighs and rubs his forehead with his hand. “What do you want, Ruth? Couldn't it have waited until the morning?”

“No, Harry. It couldn't. Yesterday, I said something that I realised might have given you the wrong impression and I wanted to set things straight, but you've been avoiding me.” He doesn't deny it; he has been avoiding her. “I want to leave the-”

“Yes, I know, Ruth. You've already made it perfectly clear that you want to leave. Now, would you please go home and let me get some much needed rest?” he snaps.

“Harry! Don't interrupt. Let me finish,” she says reproachfully.

“I don't want to hear it again, Ruth. Once was enough,” he whispers as he turns away from her.

She pretends she hasn't heard and says, “I want to leave the service with _you_.”

His drink pauses on its way to his mouth and his heart skips a beat before it starts to hammer rapidly against his chest. Slowly he lowers the glass and turns to face her.

“I don't want to leave _you_ , Harry. I want to leave the service. That's not the same thing. I want a life with you and our child, together.”

He's breathing heavily now with the strain of keeping himself together. The hope that had all but been extinguished yesterday is blossoming in his chest and he finds it hard to breathe. “Are you sure, Ruth?” he asks quietly after a moment. “Are you _really_ sure?”

“Yes,” she says simply. “I've always wanted a life with you, Harry. I may not have known quite how to go about getting it, but I've always wanted you.” She takes a few steps forwards and stops in front of him. Gently she takes the tumbler out of his hand and places it on the table before taking his hands in hers, looking up at his face again, and meeting his gaze with her own. “It wasn't regret, Harry. Panic and fear, yes, but I could never regret being with you, making love with you. If anything, I remember feeling disappointed that I had spent a night in your bed and couldn't remember it. I was scared because I thought I wasn't ready for us to be together, that the anger and guilt I felt would always come between us. I was scared we'd spoilt everything by moving too fast. But after some time, I realised that it was stupid to think that, and that what I _really_ wanted and needed was _more_ of you. But by then, it was too late; you wouldn't trust me to know my own mind.” She squeezes his hands gently. “I _do_ know my own mind. I _do_ know what I want and need. It's you. I love you... with all my heart, Harry.”


	16. Chapter 16

_Same night, 17th June, 12 am_

 

He opens his mouth to speak but can't find the words to express what he's feeling. Tears glisten in his eyes as he's overcome by emotion, and a single tear rolls down his cheek as he gazes at her with eyes full of love. He lifts his hands to cup her face, his thumbs caressing her cheeks lovingly, and she smiles, flashing her dimples at him and making her eyes sparkle. He grins back at her in response, for once allowing the euphoria he's experiencing to clearly show on his face. They gaze into each other's eyes, drinking each other in for long minutes, overcome by happiness.

“Is that a yes then?” Ruth asks playfully after a moment.

“Yes, Ruth, yes. Always,” he whispers.

“Good,” she replies and moves closer, causing his hands to slip down to her shoulders as she wraps her arms around his waist and rests her head on his shoulder. His arms slip round her and pull her close as he buries his face in her neck and begins to kiss her warm skin repeatedly. “Harry,” she sighs as she melts into his embrace.

They stand wrapped together in the middle of Harry's living room, relishing the moment for which they've both waited so long.

“Harry?” she murmurs eventually.

“Yes?”

“Did you really think that I was going to leave you again?” He doesn't answer, but she feels his head move as he nods slightly. “Oh, Harry,” she sighs. “We _are_ hopeless, aren't we?”

He chuckles at that and murmurs, “No, Ruth. Not hopeless.”

“But we are, Harry,” she protests, pulling back to look at him. “It never even occurred to me that you might think I wanted to leave you. After all we went through last time we were apart...” She sighs. “I thought you knew how I felt about you. We'd been getting so close lately, and though we hadn't found an opportunity to talk properly, I-”

“Ruth,” he interrupts gently. “I give you my word that I will never again assume that you want to leave me, that you do not want to be with me, or that you do not love me. Okay?” She nods as a smile spreads slowly across her lips. Then he adds, “but that means that if you ever do want me to sod off, you're going to have to spell it out.”

“It's a deal,” she chuckles. “And I in turn promise the same, and I also promise that I will endeavour to spell _everything_ out, so that we don't have any more misunderstandings. Okay?”

“Yes, Ruth,” he smiles and kisses her forehead tenderly.

She puts her head back on his shoulder and sighs in contentment. After a bit she says, “I'm tired, Harry. Let's go to bed?”

“An excellent idea, Ruth.” He releases her slowly and steps back, letting his hands rest on her hips and smiling into her eyes. “You go on up while I just lock up the house.”

“All right,” she nods and turns to go upstairs, but his hands hold her fast. She looks into his eyes again and sees that look - the look that tells her that he wants to kiss her. She waits but he doesn't move, so she leans in until her baby bump is touching his abdomen. “You can, you know,” she murmurs. “Any time you want to. I'll never say no, or run away again.”

“Never is a long time, Ruth,” he whispers.

She tilts her head to the side slightly and smiles. “Then you must be one of the luckiest men on earth,” she says.

“Oh, believe me. I _know_ I am,” he murmurs and closes the distance between them, pressing his lips against hers and sliding his fingers into her hair, cradling her head in his hands and sensually running his thumbs along her jaw. Their kiss is tender, and gentle, and filled with wonder. They've waited so long for this moment and they're both determined to savour it; not a goodbye kiss this time, nor a frantic coupling in a drunken haze, but the beginning of something exceptional and wonderful.

Soon their initial awe and need for tenderness and closeness has been satisfied, and their kiss progresses into something more as their mouths open and their lips and tongues meld together in an intense display of love and passion.

“I've changed my mind,” she breathes when they finally pull apart. “I'm not tired after all.”

“No?” he asks huskily. “What a coincidence, neither am I.”

He moves to kiss her again but she pushes him away, saying, “If you do that again, Harry, we're not going to make it up to bed.”

“Is that a promise?” he teases, his voice a low purr.

“No, Harry. Just a fact,” she replies.

He pauses, seemingly to ponder her words. Then a slow, sexy smile spreads across his lips and he whispers, “I think I can still manage to put the furniture downstairs to good use if you think you'll be comfortable enough.”

She smiles, and lifting her hand to his face, she strokes his cheek lovingly as she murmurs, “Ever the gentleman, eh, Harry?” Then she slides her hand behind his neck and pulls him down towards her.

Their lips meet in a hot, demanding kiss, and Harry finds himself moving backward as Ruth manoeuvres him towards the sofa, and when they brake apart for air, Ruth swiftly removes her top and bra, dropping them both on the coffee table. His eyes drop hungrily to her chest, exploring the contours of her full breasts and tracing the outline of her baby bump. She's so very beautiful.

Gently, reverently, he lifts his hands to touch her, gliding over her abdomen in awe as the realization that his child is inside her finally hits home. It's one thing to know it and quite another to see it with his own eyes. He looks up at her face and sees her timid smile. “You're beautiful,” he whispers. “Breathtakingly beautiful.” He lowers his eyes once more as his hands move up to cup her breasts. “Beautiful,” he murmurs again.

She makes a noise, a cross between a sigh and a moan, as he lifts her breasts in his hands and then whispers self-consciously, “They're not normally this large.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “I remember.”

“You do?” she asks, startled by this revelation.

“Not everything, but some things I have clear pictures of in my head.”

“Like what?”

“Your breasts. They fit perfectly in my hands and tasted like cream,” he murmurs as he bends his head down to press his lips against her. “And when I did this,” he slides his tongue across her skin to illustrate, making her moan in pleasure, “you moaned just like that.”

“What else?” she asks breathlessly.

“Your eyes... They were a deep, deep blue,” he whispers as he lifts his gaze to hers. “I'd never seen them turn that colour before... like sapphires.”

“What else do you remember?”

“That I wanted you so much that I couldn't even wait to pull all my clothes off,” he confesses as his pupils dilate further with desire and an expression of lust settles on his features.

"Right now, I can't wait either," she replies breathlessly moments before he pulls her against his chest and his lips finds hers once more.

 

 

_Next morning, 17th June, 6 am_

 

She opens her eyes and finds him watching her, his hazel eyes sparkling in pleasure. She smiles in delight, but then she's momentarily overcome by shyness at waking up next to him like this, in his bed, naked. Last time, the shock had completely overwhelmed her and she hadn't had time to feel anything but panic. This time, however, she has time to feel both awkward and embarrassed. She pulls the covers closer and watched him for a moment. This is the happiest she's ever seen him, she realises, and it warms her heart, making her overcome her initial timidity. She smiles and shifts closer to him. He lifts his arm in invitation and she puts her head on his shoulder, pressing her face against his chest, inhaling his scent, and humming contentedly.

“Good morning,” he murmurs as he slides his arm round her and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“Morning,” she mumbles into his chest, cuddling closer to him. “You're so warm,” she sighs.

“I'm glad I have my uses, Ruth,” he smiles and presses another kiss to her hair.

“Is it time to get up yet?” she asks.

“Not quite. We have quarter of an hour.”

“Good.”

There's a short silence as they hold each other close, and he begins to move his hand across her back, stroking her skin in gentle, relaxing circles. Her right hand is trapped between their bodies, but her left is resting gently against his side. Plucking up her courage, she begins to stroke his side and then his abdomen, surprised by how soft and smooth his skin is. He hums contentedly, making her smile and encouraging her to continue with her gentle caresses.

“You know, I've missed the weather in Cyprus every single morning until right now,” she says after a bit.

His hand pauses in its journey across her back and he asks tentatively, “Why not now?”

“Because it isn't cold in bed with you here,” she answers.

Smiling, he kisses her hair again, but makes no further comment.

They lie quietly a little longer until Harry says, “Ruth?”

“Yes?”

“Why did you talk me out of resigning yesterday if you wanted us to leave the service together?”

She lifts her head and raises herself up on her right elbow to look at him before replying, “Because that wasn't the right time for you to leave and you would have regretted it later. It would have eaten away at you and spoilt everything. You're grieving, Harry. You're not yourself yet. Give yourself time and when you're truly ready to leave, you'll know.” He nods and she smiles at him.

His eyes skim lovingly over her face for a moment and then venture lower, unable to resist the temptation to look at her chest when it's so tantalisingly close and on display as she lies on her right side, propping herself up on her elbow. She blushes under his scrutiny and quickly lies back down with her head on his shoulder.

He smiles at her embarrassment, especially as it's in such stark contrast to the way she'd stripped in front of him last night. “You're beautiful,” he murmurs quietly and kisses the top of her head.

Pressing a kiss against his chest in thanks, she sighs contentedly. They resume their slow caresses like before, slowly getting bolder as they begin to let their hands stray and explore the contours of each other's bodies. Ruth slides her hand round to stroke his lower back and moves a little closer until their bellies are pressed together. Harry responds by letting his hand stray lower as he strokes her back, skimming the top of her buttocks, and sliding one leg between hers to massage her calf with his foot.

“You smell good,” Ruth observes presently as she inhales deeply.

He chuckles and murmurs, “No one's ever accused me of smelling good _before_ I have a shower, Ruth.”

“Love will do strange things to a person, Harry,” she smiles into his chest. “One of the things I missed most when I was away was your smell. I missed all of you, but particularly your scent... and your eyes. You have the most beautiful eyes,” she adds as she tilts her head to look at them. They're a deep, dark hazel this morning with emerald coloured flecks shining around the edges and love shimmering in their depths.

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

_Same day, 17th June, 11 am_

 

“I have some paperwork for you to sign,” Ruth says as she walks into his office. Harry looks up from his computer and smiles as she places the folders on his desk. “That's not normally something that elicits a smile from you, Harry,” she teases lightly.

He chuckles and replies, “You could bring me news of a bomb in the centre of London today, Ruth, and I might still find it hard not to smile when I see you.” She blushes and looks down at her hands, her body language suddenly changing. Harry feels his smile dissolve and his stomach drop. “You're having second thoughts,” he states, remembering their promise to endeavour to be more open with each other.

“What? No!” she exclaims, looking up sharply in alarm, and he feels able to breathe again.

“What is it then?” he asks calmly as he gets up and slowly walks round his desk towards her.

“I... um...” she hesitates, turning to face him as he approaches.

“Just say it, Ruth,” he encourages as he stops in front of her. “As long as you haven't changed your mind, it can't be that bad.”

“I don't want to move too fast,” she murmurs, looking down at her hands again. “I mean, I know I said that I want-”

She feels his hand on hers and looks up at his face to find his captivating, hazel eyes looking at her softly. “We'll start with a few dates, Ruth,” he reassures. “We could go for a walk, dinner, or even to see a film or a play. Then maybe we could share a meal or two at my place or yours. We'll go slow. We don't need to move in together tomorrow.”

She nods as her clear, blue eyes thanked him silently for understanding. Then she opens her hand showing him the key to his house that she's been holding. “Did you put this back in my bag this morning? Because I'm sure I left it on the kitchen counter last night.”

So that's where this anxiety's coming from, he thinks and nods his head. “Yes,” he murmurs. “I'm sorry. I should have explained. It's yours, Ruth. I wanted you to have it so that you can use it when you're ready. Not now, not tomorrow, just when you're ready.” He pauses and then admits quietly, “It would mean the world to me if one day I came home to find you already there. I rather enjoy it when you break into my house.” She smiles at that, and taking her hand in his, he presses it closed around his key. “Please, keep it.”

She nods and sighs. “I'm sorry, Harry. I make things so difficult-”

“No, Ruth. Not difficult. You like to analyse everything and you're cautious. That's a good thing. And believe me, I understand that because I'm your boss – at least for a little while longer - this relationship affects all areas of your life, personal and professional, making it much harder for you. It's okay. I don't mind how much time it takes, and as long as I get what I want in the end, I can wait. I'm quite a patient man now, Ruth, and _you_ are infinitely worth the wait.”

 

 

_Almost one month later, 10th July, 1 pm_

 

“Have you thought of names?” she asks.

“Some,” he answers. “You?”

“Lots. In fact my trouble is narrowing it down. Tell me which ones you like.”

“For a boy, I thought Ben, after... after my brother, or Adam, after... well, you know.” He clears his throat. “And for a girl, Fiona, after my mother, or I quite like Sophie.”

“I like Sophie,” she nods. “It means wisdom.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “A very good quality for our daughter to have; she's going to need it.”

Ruth smiles as a picture of Harry holding their baby daughter fills her mind at his words.

“Ruth?” he says after a moment.

“Mmmm?” she answers absently.

“Are you all right?”

“What? Oh, yes, fine,” she replies, focusing once more on his face. “Sorry, I was miles away.”

“Yes, I could see that,” he smiles. “Somewhere pleasant?”

“Very,” she murmurs. “I was thinking about our baby.”

He nods and they both turn back to their food, very much enjoying being in each other's company. They don't get to eat lunch together nearly as often as they wish, what with all the meetings Harry has to attend and other work related things getting in the way.

“What do you think of Juliet?” she asks after a bit with a mischievous grin and bursts out laughing at the look on his face.

“That isn't funny, Ruth,” he growls and then adds, “In fact, I think it might be wise if we avoided all names beginning with jay. It appears to be a very unlucky letter for me where women are concerned.”

Ruth laughs. “Okay, no jay names for girls, though I did quite like the idea of naming her Joanna after Jo.” Harry nods but makes no comment, so Ruth moves on, saying, “What do you think of Helen?”

“No,” he states firmly.

“Why not?” she asks with interest, surprised at the hardness in his voice.

He doesn't answer immediately, but eventually he murmurs, “I knew someone with that name once, a long time ago. She was an asset and things got... I had to burn her.” There's a lot more to this story and he knows that this is his opportunity to come clean, to tell her about the boy, but he can't quite bring himself to do it. Not now when he's had a taste of life with Ruth and when he knows that this is one of the secrets from his past that might destroy them. He couldn't bear that, so he keeps quiet, silently berating himself for being a coward.

She tilts her head to the side and studies him for a moment. This Helen must have been important to him at some point, she concludes based on his body language and reluctance to talk about it, perhaps he'd even loved her. Maybe she'd broken his heart, she thinks and feels a stab of anger towards this unknown woman who'd hurt him. One thing's for sure - whatever happened in the past with this woman, it wasn't simple. But he doesn't want to talk about it, so she lets it go, reluctant as she is to spoil their lunch together. “What about Amie?” she asks.

He nods and murmurs, “I like it. What about boys? Don't you have any male names you like?”

“You mean other than Harry?” she smiles and is pleased to see his expression soften as his lips curl up in a smile.

“Yes,” he nods.

“Well,” she replies, “I like James, after my father, and Daniel, after Danny.” She pauses as her thoughts drift towards her lost loved ones and then says quietly, “We are rather sentimental in our choices, aren't we, Harry?”

“Yes, Ruth,” he agrees, “we are.”

 

 

_About one month later, 3rd August, 11 pm_

 

She turns the key in the lock and enters the house, feeling a little nervous. It's the first time since she'd told him that she wanted them to leave the service together that she's entering his house when he isn't home. But she's ready for this, she tells herself as she resets the alarm. Enough time had passed to know that this really could work; she and Harry could work. And she really wants a life with him, so this is the next step. The step between dating someone and living with them. Leaving some of your things at their house permanently and having the freedom to come and go even when they're not home. She's brought a key to her house with her tonight to give him when he gets home, so that he can have the same freedom in her place. Smiling softly at the thought, she walks into the kitchen and switches on the kettle for tea.

 


	18. Chapter 18

 

_Next morning, 4th August, 5 am_

 

She comes round with a start and opens her eyes. Her gaze falls on the pair of familiar and beloved hazel eyes belonging to the man lying next to her and she smiles. “Hi,” she whispers.

“Hello, yourself,” he murmurs.

She stretches and lifts her head a little to look past him at the clock. “Oh! It's only five o'clock,” she says in surprise. “What time did you get in?”

“Around one,” he answers, rolling onto his back. “You were sleeping so I didn't wake you.”

She smiles down at him as she props herself up on one elbow to look at him.

“What?” he asks, seeing the twinkle in her eye and the smile on her lips.

“Were you tempted to?” she asks quietly.

“Tempted to what?”

“Wake me.”

He blinks. “Yes.”

“Why didn't you?”

“Because you looked so peaceful and I knew you were tired.”

“Next time,” she smiles, “wake me if you feel like it.”

“Ruth-” he begins, but he's interrupted.

“I've often imagined what it would be like,” she murmurs, reaching her hand over to him and running her fingers down the front of his chest, watching their slow progress along his body, and delighting in the feel of his solid chest below the fabric of his t-shirt and the sudden change in his breathing her touch and words had provoked. “You get in late from work and find me in bed, sleeping. You smile down at me and brush the hair away from my face gently. Then you turn to leave the room to get ready for bed, but just then I sigh and shift in my sleep, rolling over onto my back and pulling the covers with me. You glance back at me and your breath catches as you notice that my movements have pulled the covers down a little, and you realise that I'm not wearing anything. My right nipple is peaking out from under the duvet, begging to be kissed and licked and sucked. You groan as you struggle against the desire that has been awakened inside you by the sight. Soon you find that you're losing the battle with your self-control, your self-denial, and before you quite know what you're doing, you're leaning over the bed, over me. Your mouth closes over the rose coloured peak before you can stop yourself, and your right hand slips under the covers to stroke the soft skin of my other breast. I moan-”

His index finger presses against her lips to silence her and he whispers huskily, “Close your eyes, Ruth. It's night time and you're sleeping.”

She smiles and lies back against her pillow, closing her eyes and sighing in satisfaction. “This is my fantasy now, Ruth,” she hears him murmur in a deep, resonating voice, and as his hand reaches out to caress her skin, she relinquishes control and prepares to enjoy it.

 

 

_Same day, 4th August, 6:30 am_

 

He watches her sleeping next to him, her body curled towards him, one of her hands resting on her protruding stomach protectively, the other cradled in his own. He knows he has to wake her, but he doesn't have the heart to do it just yet. So he lets her sleep on, telling himself that five minutes more can't hurt. They'd woken up at five this morning, but instead of getting up, he'd let Ruth seduce him into spending an hour more in bed, making sweet love to her. And this morning had been especially sweet and wonderful. Wonderful because it had been the first time that she'd used her key to let herself into his house before he got home.

Up until last night, they'd been dating, going out or inviting each other over for a meal or a take out, and frequently spending the night together. But last night, something had changed. He can feel it; Ruth's ready for more. For all her talk of wanting to be with him, he can tell that she's scared. Perhaps it's because every other attempt they've made to be together has ended in tears, perhaps because she doesn't quite trust that his love will last, or perhaps because it's just part of who she is, not being able to stop thinking of the what ifs. But last night, he'd found her asleep in his bed when he'd got home and he'd felt elated.

He'd been reluctant to bring up what would happen once she was decommissioned if he was still working. Technically they wouldn't be allowed to see each other, and he hadn't wanted to talk about it lest he spook her and she decided she needed more time. He wants her by his side now, not at some point in the future after he retires.

“Ruth,” he murmurs, kissing her cheek softly and stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

“Mmmm,” she protests and tries to roll away from him.

He chuckles lightly and holds her in place while he traces kisses along her jaw towards her neck. “Wake up, Ruth. We've got to go to work.”

“Bugger work,” she mumbles this time, and he laughs and rubs the stubble on his chin against the sensitive skin of her neck. She squeals and tries to push him away. “Harry!” she protests. “Stop it.”

He pulls back to look at her and smiles at the grumpy look she's giving him with her stormy blue eyes. He loves the way they change colour like that. One moment they're a soft, sky blue, the next a stormy blue-grey, and when she's really aroused, brilliant, dark sapphires.

“Two more minutes,” she murmurs and closes her eyes again. He smiles. Unlike himself, she's certainly not a morning person, he thinks. He's always been an early riser, something he's grateful for as it's served him well in the army and later as a spy. He's also a light sleeper. Ruth, on the other hand, sleeps like a log and is definitely a night owl. Over the past month or so, he's learned so much more about her and he loves that. There's the way she moves her fingers through the air or against her thighs or chest, as if playing an invisible piano or violin, when she listens to music, the way she frowns when she watches the news and her eyes darken and flash when she hears something she doesn't like, and the way she curls her legs under her when sitting on the sofa reading, or pushes them up against his thigh as she tries to warm them up. Her feet are nearly always cold, he's discovered, and most of the time, so are her hands. She delights in pressing them suddenly against his skin to make him jump, and he loves this playful side of her.

“Marry me, Ruth,” he whispers.

Her eyes snap open. “What?” she asks in shock.

“Marry me, Ruth,” he repeats softly. She just stares at him so he forces himself to continue. “In a few months, you'll be decommissioned and they won't allow us to see each other. I don't want to have to sneak around every night just to see you. I _can_ do it and I _will_ do it, if I have to, but I don't _want_ to. I love you, Ruth. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and to try my best to make you happy. Marry me, please, so they can't separate us again. We can have a quiet wedding in a registry office with a couple of witnesses, and we needn't tell anyone until you've been decommissioned. We don't even need to live together until you're ready. Please, Ruth, think about it. Just think about it. Okay?”

She nods slowly and murmurs, “I'll... I'll think about it, Harry. I promise.”

“Good,” he smiles.


	19. Chapter 19

_One month later, 1st September, 5 pm_

 

“I'm off,” Ruth announces. “I'm going to miss you all.”

Tariq steps forward and embraces her rather awkwardly as her abdomen is now huge. “Take care, Ruth. I'll miss you. Good luck. I hope everything goes well with the baby.”

“Thank you, Tariq. You take care too, all right? Don't work too late.”

“I probably will,” he grins.

Ruth smiles, fighting against the tears that are glistening in her eyes.

“Bye, Ruth,” Lucas says, stepping forward to embrace her.

“Take care, Lucas.” She wants to tell him more, to reassure him that he'll be fine. She's noticed the change in him recently since Ros's death and she's really worried about him. But she doesn't know how to phrase it, so she says, “If you ever need a friend, Lucas, I'm always available. You've been through a lot lately.”

He looks at her oddly for a second, but then he smiles. “Thanks, Ruth. Good luck with the little one. I'm sure he or she will keep you busy.”

Ruth nods and turns to Beth, the newest member of their team. “Good luck, Beth.”

“Thank you, Ruth. You too. Take care of yourself and your family.”

“I will.”

Beth hugs her and then Ruth turns to Dimitri. “Γειά σου, Δημητράκι,” she grins. It drives him crazy when she calls him that. Apparently only his mother still uses the diminutive of his name.

He shakes his head at her and smiles, “Ruth, τι θα κάνουμε χωρίς εσένα; Εύχομαι να πάνε όλα καλά με τη γέννα και να είναι δυνατό και υγειές το μικρό. We'll miss you, Ruth.”

“I'll miss you too. Take care.” She hugs him tight and turns to Harry.

“I'll drive you home,” he says and picks up the box with her belongings.

She nods and gazes one more time across the grid, remembering so many different events, so many faces, so many moments shared. Tears fills her eyes, not because she's sad to go, she knows this is the right time, but because she misses them all, Danny, Jo, Zoe, Tom, Colin, Zaf, Adam, Sam, Fiona, Malcolm, Ros... Wiping away her tears she turns to Harry. “Let's go,” she says, and waving goodbye to her colleagues for what she anticipates to be the last time, she walks through the pods with Harry at her side.

 

 

_Two weeks earlier, 14th August, 2 pm_

 

“So what's this about, Ruth?” Harry asks. They're sitting side by side on a their bench gazing out over the water.

“I made my decision this morning and I wanted to give you my answer,” she smiles. “I didn't want to do it at the office.”

“Your answer to what question?” he frowns.

“The question you asked me almost two weeks ago,” she replies and sees the understanding dawn in his eyes. She can read him so well, she suddenly realises, and seeing the anxiety creep into his gaze, she speaks quickly, not wanting to be cruel and prolong it unnecessarily. “Yes, Harry. I will marry you,” she whispers and watches as disbelief replaces the worry in his eyes and is quickly followed by delight. He opens his mouth to say something, but can't find the words, so he reaches over and takes her hand in his instead, squeezing it gently. “I thought, if you agree, we could go over to the registry office and give notice today. Then we can be married in a couple of weeks. What do you think?” she asks.

He squeezes her hand once more and smiles, his eyes sparkling in joy. “Two weeks? That would be... truly wonderful, Ruth.”

“And I _would_ like to live with you, Harry, after we are married,” she adds quietly, looking down at her hands while she speaks and then glancing up at him shyly.

He grins; he can't help it.

 

 

_About one month later, 18th September, 1 pm_

 

“Hello, Rachel?” Ruth says into the phone.

“Hi, Ruth,” the doula answers. “How are you feeling?”

“I think it's started,” Ruth murmurs apprehensively.

“Oh, how wonderful!” Rachel smiles. “I'll be right over. I should be there in about forty minutes. Just remember to breathe through the contractions, and relax your vocal cords. We want nice low notes on the exhale, okay? Ring me if you need me, but I'm on my way.”

“Okay,” Ruth replies and hangs up just before the next contraction hits her. Breathe through them, she tells herself, but it's easier said than done.

 

 

_About three weeks earlier, 26th August, 11 am_

 

“I, Ruth Evershed, take you, Henry James Pearce, to be my lawful wedded husband, to love, honour, cherish, and protect, forsaking all others and holding only onto you. As a token of this promise, I give you this ring,” she repeats after the registrar and takes his larger hand in hers, sliding the thin gold band on his ring finger. She smiles up at him and lets him take her left hand in his.

“I, Henry James Pearce, take you, Ruth Evershed, to be my lawful wedded wife, to love, honour, cherish, and protect, forsaking all others and holding only onto you. As a token of this promise, I give you this ring,” Harry says without waiting to be prompted by the official and slides the gold band on Ruth's ring finger.

“By the powers vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the registrar smiles.

Without waiting for permission, Harry leans forward and captures his wife's lips in a long, tender kiss, and when they eventually pull apart, they both stand gazing at each other, grinning from ear to ear and glowing with happiness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of Greek:   
> "Goodbye, Dimitraki,"... "Ruth, what will we do without you? I hope everything goes well with the birth and that the baby is strong and healthy."


	20. Chapter 20

_About three weeks later, 18th September, 6 pm_

 

“You're doing great, Ruth,” Rachel smiles, rubbing her hand against Ruth's lower back.

“I don't think I can do this any more,” Ruth complains and pauses as another contraction forces her to stop speaking.

“That's it, low notes, ahhhhhh,” Rachel encourages as she pushes hard against Ruth's lower back.

“How much longer?” Ruth asks breathlessly when it's passed.

“It could be a few more hours yet,” Rachel replies giving her a sympathetic look. “Let's walk for a bit.”

“Walk?” Ruth asks in surprise.

“Outside. It's a nice day and it'll take your mind off things for a little while,” Rachel replies.

Ruth nods and Rachel helps her into her coat and shoes before they set off for a short walk to the park down the road.

 

 

_Ten days earlier, 8th September, 8 pm_

 

Harry walks into the house, and after dealing with the alarm, hanging up his coat, and placing his keys in the tray on the hall table, he goes to look for his wife. He finds her sitting on the sofa crying.

“Ruth?” he says as he approaches her and sits down next to her. “What's wrong?”

She shakes her head and reaches for him, burying her face in his shoulder as he wraps his arms around her and she continues to sob.

“Ruth, what is it?” he asks worriedly. “Is it our baby? Is something wrong?”

“No,” she shakes her head.

Feeling very relieved, he holds her against his chest, stroking her back in gentle comforting circles as he waits for her tears to slow. It still amazes him at times like this that he's allowed to do this, he's allowed to touch her, hold her, and comfort her. Eventually, Ruth calms down and lifts her head to look at him. Seeing her tear stained cheeks, he reaches over to the coffee table for the tissues and hands her the box.

“Thank you,” she says and proceeds to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.

“Why were you crying, Ruth?” he asks after a bit as he strokes her knee with his hand.

“It's everything really. I was feeling a little overwhelmed,” she confesses. “I was so bored at home today, Harry, and I missed you. I miss working by your side at the Grid more than I thought I would. And it's such hard work to move around now that I just want it to be over so that I can have my body back. You have no idea how difficult it is to have to share it with someone, even someone you love very much, and especially when that someone keeps kicking you in the ribs or bladder so you have to keep rushing off to the bathroom every five seconds. My back is killing me, my feet are killing me, and I can't sleep properly because I'm so uncomfortable. I'm just so tired of it all, and the closer I get to my due date, the harder it is to wait, the more impatient I'm getting.”

“I'm sorry, Ruth,” he says gently as he continues to rub her knee. “Let me run a bath for you,” he suggests after a moment.

“That would be nice,” she nods and gives him a small smile.

He gets up and kisses her forehead tenderly before leaving the room to go run her bath. He has a quick shower, changing into jeans and a polo shirt, before he turns to the task at hand. As he busies himself cleaning out the tub, running the hot water, and pouring in some bubble-bath, he vows to try harder to make Ruth's last few weeks of pregnancy easier for her. He's never before realised quite how uncomfortable and tiring pregnancy can be. He remembers Jane suffering from morning sickness with both their children, but other than that and feeling the first kicks of his children against their mother's abdomen, he doesn't really have any memories of her pregnancies. He feels a pang of guilt that he hadn't been there to support his first wife. He'd been busy with work as always and hadn't even been in the country when Catherine had been born. With Graham he'd tried harder to be around as their marriage had already been on the rocks, but though he hadn't managed to attend his birth, he'd made an effort to help out in any way he could, which mostly involved spending time with Catherine in order to give Jane a break. But Graham had been three weeks early, so Jane had avoided the last few especially uncomfortable weeks.

When the bath's full, he goes back downstairs to get Ruth. “Bath's ready,” he says softly and offers her his hand. She lets him pull her to her feet and lead her upstairs. Once in their bedroom, he moves to stand in front of her and murmurs, “May I?” She nods and he proceeds to undress her, letting his fingers and hands glide over her smooth skin as he peels off her clothes gently until she's standing before him in nothing but her underwear. “You're so beautiful, Ruth,” he smiles as he steps back to look at her when he's finished.

She blushes and murmurs, “Thank you.”

He steps close to her again, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable under his gaze for long, and unable to resist the temptation, he cups her face with his hands and pressed his lips against hers for a long, lingering kiss. Then he pulls back and smiles. “Come on,” he says and leads her to the bathroom where he helps her remove the last of her clothes and enter the bath.

She closes her eyes and moans with pleasure as she lies back in the water, making his smile broaden. “Do you want to come in?” she asks, opening her eyes to look at him.

“Not now,” he shakes his head. “In fact, I'm not sure that all three of us fit,” he chuckles. “Perhaps it's something we'll save for after the baby's born. I'm going to go and eat something and then I'll be back to help you get out. All right?” She nods. Then a thought occurs to him and he asks, “Have you eaten?”

“Yes,” she smiles, “but I'll probably need another snack before bed when I've finished here.”

“All right,” he replies, and with a last warm, lingering look, he leaves the room.

Twenty minutes later, he reappears baring a tray with two cups of tea, a sandwich for Ruth, and some biscuits to share. Ruth opens her eyes and beams at him when she sees the tray. “Thank you, Harry. You really are a sweet man, d'you know that?”

He nods in acknowledgement and turns his back towards her to hide his embarrassment at her compliment as he sets the tray down near the sink. Then he places Ruth's tea and sandwich on the edge of the bath tub, and lowering the toilet lid, he sits down on it. They sip their tea in contented silence and Ruth eats her sandwich while Harry enjoys watching her, delighting in the opportunity he has to enjoy gazing at her beautiful body. Some of the bubbles from the bubble-bath have already dissolved, and there are patches of clear water through which he can admire his wife's delectable curves. She doesn't appear to have noticed this, or he's sure that she would have objected to this arrangement. She's still rather shy when she has no clothes on in his presence, and he has to be careful to not let his gaze linger on her too long, or she gets very uncomfortable. Still, he thinks smugly, there are always ways around it, such as distracting her with his touch or his words, or watching her surreptitiously as he's doing now.

Once she's finished eating, Harry moves to sit on the edge of the tub, and reaching for a towel, he places it on his lap and says, “Here. Give me your foot.” Ruth raises her right foot out of the water, and he catches it and places it in his lap. Then he begins to massage it with his hands, making Ruth groan in pleasure and her eyes drift closed as he works to release the tension in her muscles.

Soon he's finished massaging both feet and Ruth's ready to get out of the bath. He steadies her as she steps onto the bath mat and he begins to towel her off gently while Ruth watches him with soft, loving eyes. He hangs up the towel and holds her robe for her as she slips it on and murmurs her thanks.

“Go get in bed, Ruth,” he says. “I'll just take the tray downstairs and then I'll come back to clean up. Don't you dare do anything. I'm taking care of everything tonight.”

She smiles and asks mischievously, “May I brush my teeth, Harry, or would you like to do that for me too?” He rolls his eyes and she presses a kiss to his cheek in apology before adding, “Thank you, Harry. You're wonderful and I really appreciate what you're doing. It's just what I needed tonight.”

He nods, and collecting the mugs and plates, he puts them on the tray and carries them back downstairs. When he comes back up, Ruth's in bed reading her book. She smiles at him as he walks past the bed on his way to the bathroom. He drains and rinses the bath, opens the window a crack to get rid of the steam, and then proceeds to brush his teeth and get ready for bed.

A few minutes later, he reappears in their bedroom and quickly strips out of his clothes and puts on a clean t-shirt. Then he opens the cupboard of his bedside table and retrieves the bottle of massage oil they keep there. Ruth looks up and raises her eyebrows at him in question.

“I haven't finished with you yet, Lady Pearce,” he smiles.

“Well, it's a good thing that I didn't bother to put my pyjamas on then, isn't it?” she teases as she slips the bookmark in her book and places in on her bedside table.

“How very clever of you, Ruth,” he murmurs.

Ruth sits up in bed and turns her back towards him, pulling her hair out of the way. “You'll have to do this with me sitting up,” she sighs. She really can't wait until their baby's born so that she can lie down on her stomach again, or her back for that matter. It's been months since the last time she's been able to do that, she thinks mournfully. She feels Harry's warm hands on her shoulders as he spreads oil over them gently and begins to massage her muscles in wonderfully firm strokes. He's really very good at this, she thinks happily as she allows herself to relax and enjoy it.

By the time Harry's moved on to massaging her calves and then her thighs, Ruth's feeling loved and cherished, relaxed and renewed, and very highly aroused. Harry's beginning to find it difficult to reign in his desire which has been simmering away in the background for the last hour or so, ever since he'd undressed Ruth for her bath, and as his hands glided over her thighs towards her soft, round bottom, his desire can no longer be contained. He's already rock solid and his hands are itching to slide up over her damp curls and into her delicate folds.

"Ruth-" he whispers in a strained voice as he raises his eyes to her face, but she doesn't let him even complete his question before answering it.

"Yes, Harry," she murmurs.

She's watching him, her eyes sparkling at him, dark sapphires radiating love and lust as she lies on her left side with her right knee bent up and her left leg extended straight down. Without a word, he lets go of his self-control, his hands gliding up her left thigh to her core where they're shortly joined by his lips and tongue. Expertly and quickly he pushes her over her first peak, causing her to shudder and whisper his name in ecstasy. He lifted his head to look at her, smiling in satisfaction at her flushed cheeks, heavy-lidded eyes, and sated expression.

Her hand moves to her baby bump and his smile broadens, sure that their child's kicking again in protest at her uterus contracting around him. Leaning over, he presses his lips against her stomach and whispers, "There's nothing to worry about, little one. Mummy's just happy." He kisses her abdomen once more and raises his eyes to look at her.

She smiles and murmurs, "I love you, Harry... and I want you right now."

He nods and pulls off his t-shirt and boxers before lying down next to her for a moment to capture her lips in a passionate kiss. “I love you, Ruth,” he murmurs when they came up for air and turns his attention to her breasts. He licks and kisses them in turn, loving every minute of it as he listens to the sounds of pleasure escaping her throat. Then he feels her hand close around him and he gasps from the unexpected contact.

“Ruth,” he protests. “Don't. Let me love you.”

“But I want to love you too, Harry,” she replies as she begins to move her hand along his length.

His breathing deepens and soon it's coming in pants as she continues her firm strokes, pausing momentarily to squirt a little massage oil onto her hands before resuming her caresses. “Ruth,” he moans, and she pulls his head up to capture his lips in hers, continuing to fondle him in long, steady strokes of ever increasing speed. A couple of seconds later she feels his warm semen pulse though his cock and spill onto her abdomen as his body tenses, his arms pulling her closer as he groans into her mouth. Then his muscles tremble for a moment before they relax, and he sighs her name.

 

 

_Ten days later, 18th September, 9 pm_

 

Beth watches with barely contained excitement as Harry enters the grid. He looks exhausted, but unfortunately, he's not alone and she has to wait for half an hour before she can talk to him. The moment the pods close behind his visitor, she pops up from her desk, rushing over to his office and bursting through the door.

“Knock, knock!” he yells in exasperation as he looks up from his desk.

“Sorry, Harry,” she replies, “but did Ruth get hold of you?”

“Ruth?” he asks as he sits up straight in his chair. “No, why? What's happened?”

“She rung when you were in the JIC meeting and asked me to tell you that she's in labour.”

Harry stares at her for a moment and then a smile creeps across his lips. He stands up quickly and moves towards the door, grabbing his coat and gloves as he asks, “What time was that, Beth?”

“At one.”

“Christ!” he exclaims as he pulls his phone out of his pocket. The meeting has only just finished, but rather foolishly, he'd been so caught up in his urgent conversation with his counterpart from C Section that he'd forgotten to turn his phone back on and check his messages. As he sees Ruth's text message and notices he has voice mail, he silently berates himself for the oversight and hopes that he isn't too late and that Ruth will forgive him, even if he can't forgive himself, for letting her down again.

He opens the text message first and reads, “Looks like your performance this morning paid off. Rachel's with me, but I'd love you here too. I'll leave my phone on until I arrive at the birthing centre. R xx” He chuckles at her message as he dials his voice mail, thinking back to their early morning lovemaking when he'd apparently made up for his inability to perform the night before. The message was left about an hour ago and it's from Rachel, informing him that they are setting off from the house, and he should look for them at the birthing centre. Ending the call quickly, he turns to Beth and says, “Right, I'm unavailable unless disaster strikes. Page me if it's urgent. Let the team know.”

Beth nods and watches him disappear through the pods.

 


	21. Chapter 21

_Yesterday, 17th September, 11 pm_

 

He quietly makes his way into the room and slips into bed next to Ruth, relieved that she's asleep. He closes his eyes and almost sighs in contentment as he allows his body to relax; he's had an exhausting day, and coupled with his early start at five this morning, he's immensely grateful to find himself in bed. He's just drifting off to sleep when he feels Ruth's hand slide onto his chest and begin to caress him as it descends slowly towards his groin. He stifles a groan and turns his head towards her. They have started leaving the light on in the bathroom because Ruth has to get up so many times to use it every night, and in it's gentle glow, he can make out Ruth's face.

"Ruth?" he asks uncertainly.

"Hi," she murmurs and moves closer as her hand continued its journey south.

"It's late," he says, catching her hand in his own and stilling its motion.

"I want you, Harry," she states boldly.

She's getting quite good at spelling things out now, he thinks with more than a little admiration; she's certainly much better at it than he is. He sighs and murmurs, "Ruth-"

But she interrupts him, saying in a voice tinged with desperation, "I need you, Harry. I can't stand it any more. The baby's already a day late and I need you to help me."

"What?" he asks in bewilderment. "How?"

"Your semen, Harry," she says impatiently. "I need your semen."

There's a short silence while he tries to make sense of her statement, but eventually, he has to admit, "No, sorry. You've lost me. What are you talking about?"

"When I went to my last appointment, the one you missed because of your meeting with the Home Secretary, Dr. Alexiou said that a man's semen can help soften the cervix and thus induce labour," she states.

He stares at her. Then he says in a voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and amusement, "I'm sorry, let me get this straight. You want to _use_ me for sex in order to induce your labour?"

"Yes," she answers and then adds quietly, "though that's not the only reason I want to have sex with you. I do enjoy it very much, you know."

"And that's the reason that you've been wanting sex every day for the past week?" he asks, feeling the relief wash over him even before she's answered. He's been worrying about the age gap between them for most of the week and has been desperately hoping that the difference in their libido is only temporary and a result of pregnancy hormones, or else he knows he's, quite literally, screwed.

"Not the only reason," she replies defensively.

He sighs and rubs his face with his hands. Then he rolls over onto his side to face her and reaches his hand over to stroke her cheek. "Ruth," he says softly. "I'm sorry, but I'm exhausted. If I was a decade or two younger, I'm sure I'd be able to give you what you want, but right now, it's too much. I'm sorry."

Her eyes soften as she watches him and she suddenly realises just how selfish she's being and how difficult it much be for him to admit that he can't satisfy her needs right now. "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm being so selfish." She kisses his cheek lightly and murmurs, "Forgive me, please."

"There's nothing to forgive, Ruth," he replies.

"I love you," she murmurs, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it gently as she places her head back on her pillow.

"I love you too," he replies and squeezes her hand in return before closing his eyes.

 

 

_The following night, 18th September, 10 pm_

 

“Ruth?” the nurse says gently. “Your husband's here.”

Ruth lifts her eyes towards the door and spots Harry standing a little uncertainly just inside the doorway. She smiles at him and it seems that's the only invitation he needs to make his way swiftly to her side.

“Hi,” he whispers, grabbing hold of the hand she holds out to him and pressing a kiss to her temple. “I'm sorry I'm so late. What can I do to help?”

“Just be here,” she manages to say before the next contraction hits her. She groans from the pain and leans over as she supports herself on the back of a chair. She tries hard to keep her vocal cords relaxed, but it's getting more and more difficult and she can hear herself squeaking.

Harry watches helplessly as Ruth suffers though it. He wishes there was something he could do to relieve her pain, but he knows it's unavoidable. Ruth has decided that she wants a natural birth with no painkillers and it's his job to support her in her decision. At least this time, she's suffering through something that'll bring a wonderful reward when it's over.

“Harry,” Rachel murmurs to him when the contraction's over. “Ruth's having a lot of back pain with the contractions. Would you press hard against her lower back during each one? You're much stronger than I am.”

“Of course,” he nods, happy to have something to do that'll ease Ruth's pain. So taking off his coat, jacket, and tie, he throws them on a nearby chair and moves to stand behind Ruth.

 

 

_Same night, 18th September, 11 pm_

 

“Okay, Ruth,” the midwife smiles. “You're ten centimetres dilated; it's time to push with the next contraction.”

Ruth nods and grips Harry's hand tighter.

“You're almost there, Ruth,” he murmurs near her ear. “Almost there.”

Ruth squeezes his hand so tightly that it's painful as the next contraction comes. “Push. That's it,” the midwife encourages.

However, despite Ruth’s efforts, a few contractions later, the baby still hasn't appeared and she's getting tired.

“Perhaps a different position might help,” Dr. Alexiou suggests. She'd come quietly into the room about a minute earlier, and noticing how tired Ruth's getting, she's a little worried. She comes closer and touches Ruth's shoulder gently. “You could try kneeling on all fours, Ruth. Lying on one's back doesn't work for everyone.”

She catches Harry's eye and he nods, turning to Ruth and murmuring, “Come on, Ruth. We'll help you.”

“I can't any more, Harry,” Ruth moans, pleading with her eyes for him to help her. “I can't.”

Harry notices the worried looks the midwife and doctor exchange at that. Ruth's getting tired, and if her baby isn't born soon, they might need to give her a c-section. After years of being a spook, he can read them like a book. The problem is that Ruth probably can too, even in her exhausted state.

“Ruth,” he says firmly, “look at me.” He takes her face in his hands to make sure she's focused on him. “These people here care for you, Ruth, but they don't know you. They don't know the vast reserves of strength that you possess. _I_ know you. You are one of the strongest and bravest women I know. You saved Adam from a madman with a crossbow, you remained focused on saving Fiona despite your grief, you gave up everything to keep me free, to see me safe. This is nothing compared to that. _Nothing_. You _can_ do this. I have complete faith in you. I know you, Ruth Evershed Pearce, and I _know_ you can do this.” He waits, watching her intently and is relieved to see her nod. “Now, come on,” he says and helps her up. Then he sits down on the bed and holds her against him as she kneels before him. “Lean on me, Ruth,” he murmurs into her hair as he wraps his arms around her, supporting her and murmuring words of encouragement.

“I think it would be best if we break the amniotic sac, Ruth,” Dr. Alexiou says quietly. “It usually breaks on it's own in the earlier stages of labour, but your baby's is still intact. Breaking it should make it easier for you to push. Is that okay?”

Ruth looks at Rachel, who nods her head in ascent. The two of them have talked about Ruth's labour extensively and Ruth trusts her. She trusts Dr. Alexiou too, but she knows Rachel much better and wants her opinion also. “Okay,” she whispers.

She doesn't feel anything as the midwife inserts her fingers inside her to feel the amniotic sac. The moment she presses against it, however, it burst, and Ruth feels the amniotic fluid gush out of her and with it comes the next contraction, much faster and harder than the rest.

“Push, Ruth,” Rachel encourages, but it isn't necessary. The pressure Ruth feels inside her is so intense now that she wouldn't have been able to stop herself from pushing even if she'd wanted to.

“The baby's crowning,” the midwife says a moment later as Ruth pushes as hard as she can. “Come on, Ruth. Two more big pushes and it'll be over.”

“You hear that?” Harry whispers in her ear. “You're almost there, Ruth, and then you can hold our baby.”

The next contraction comes faster this time, but it's the only one that's needed in the end. Ruth pushed hard, bracing herself against Harry as he murmurs more words of encouragement, and suddenly, it's all over and she feels the pressure release and hears a baby's cry.

“You did it, Ruth,” the midwife smiles. “It's a girl.”

With a sob born of relief, happiness, and exhaustion, Ruth slumps forward, knocking Harry off balance and making him fall backwards onto the bed with Ruth on top of him, still wrapped tightly in his arms. Luckily the hospital bed they're sitting on is in a reclined position, so they didn't end up completely horizontal. He lifts his hand to her face and pushes aside her hair until he can see her eyes. “I knew you could do it,” he smiles. “I love you.” He kisses her lips gently and looks towards the table where Dr. Alexiou is giving his daughter an Apgar score and the nurses are cleaning her up.

“Is she okay?” Ruth whispers, turning her eyes in the direction of the doctor.

“She's certainly loud,” he smiles. “Sit up and we'll see,” he encourages. They manage to get back to a sitting position, and Harry gets off the bed as the nurses help Ruth rearrange herself. Rachel makes sure she drinks some of the herbal tea she's brought for her and gives her a banana to eat, while Harry moves over to the table to look at their daughter.

“Is everything all right?” he asks quietly, and at the sound of his voice, the baby stops crying for a moment.

“She's fine,” Dr. Alexiou smiles. Then she picks the baby up and carries her over to Ruth. “Here you go, Mum. Your little one is healthy and strong, and is probably wanting her first meal.”

Ruth takes her daughter in her arms and smiles down at her in delight. “She's beautiful,” she murmurs.

“She is,” Dr. Alexiou replies. “You make beautiful babies, Ruth; there's hardly any moulding at all.” Then she proceeds to show Ruth how to nurse her newborn.


	22. Chapter 22

_Same night, 19th September, 12:30 am_

 

Harry gazes down at his daughter who's nestled in her mother's arms, suckling contentedly at her breast. Her eyes are open and she's gazing up at her mother with a look of intense concentration. Ruth smiles down at her and murmurs, “Hello, little one. Mummy's been so impatient to see you.” Then she looks up at Harry and smiles. “Thank you, Harry. I don't know what I'd have done without you; I'm so glad you were here.”

“I wouldn't have missed it for the world,” he murmurs reaching down and kissing her forehead tenderly. At the sound of his voice, the baby stops nursing and lets go of Ruth's breast.

“I think she recognises your voice, Harry,” Ruth smiles. Then lifting her precious girl in her arms, she holds her out to him. “Here. Take her for a bit.”

He smiles and picks his child up gingerly, moving her round to cradle her in his arms. “Hello, beautiful,” he murmurs as his daughter watched him intently. “I'm your daddy.” He glances at Ruth and adds, “She's beautiful, Ruth. I think she has your eyes.”

“Well, she definitely has your hair. It's fair and there isn't much of it,” she teases.

“Cheeky,” Harry frowns at her. Then he turns to his daughter and says, “Your mummy's being very rude, isn't she?”

“Besides, her eyes still might change colour, you know,” Ruth continues, smiling as she watched them. “I hope they do. I always imagined that my children would have hazel eyes, like their father.”

A look of such tenderness appears in his eyes as he raises them to look at her, that it quite takes her breath away. He opens his mouth to speak, but his daughter chooses that moment to spit up what looks like half the milk she's just drunk, all over the front of his shirt.

“Bollocks!” Harry exclaims.

“Oh, look what you've done to daddy's shirt!” Ruth laughs and reaches out to take the baby from him. “Here, give her to me while you clean yourself up, or it'll stain.”

He does as she asks and tries to clean up the mess as best he can with a damp cloth. Meanwhile Ruth's talking to the baby. “Your daddy's going to have to watch his tongue now, isn't he? It wouldn't do for you to start repeating some of the naughty words he uses, would it, Fi?”

He smiles. “What did you just call her?”

“Fi,” Ruth replies, looking up at him. “I think we should call her Fiona Rosalind. I was leaning towards Fiona anyway, but I think it suits her with her fair hair and blue eyes. What do you think?”

“I'd like that,” he smiles, “if you're sure.”

“I am,” she nods and turns to look at her daughter. “Well, little one, what do you think? Would you like to be called Fiona after Grandma?” Fiona brings her fist to her mouth and sucks on it as she watches Ruth. “Fiona after Grandma and Rosalind after your fairy godmother, what do you say?”

“ _Fairy_ godmother?” Harry enquires, raising his eyebrows in surprise as his lips twitch in amusement.

Ruth nods. “I asked Ros to be her godmother about three months ago, and she said she would as long as she didn't have to be a _fairy_ godmother. But since then, I've discovered something very interesting.”

“Oh?”

“You're not going to like it,” Ruth warns. He frowns at her and she smiles. “Well, perhaps you won't mind so much. I didn't after I got over the initial shock.”

“Now you have me intrigued. What are you talking about?” he asks.

“It was something Lucas said. He said that Ros's magical powers worked well the last time she'd used them and it got me thinking. So these past couple of weeks, I looked into it. After all I still haven't been decommissioned, so I checked some CCTV from the 22nd and 23rd of December of last year.”

“How?” he asks in surprise.

“I set up a secure connection from your computer at home. Anyway, I found out that you left the office party with Lucas, who took you home in a cab. I left the party with Ros, who took me home in a different cab. Now, this is the interesting part. I knew I'd got to your house by car, but when I found my car on CCTV, I discovered that _I_ wasn't driving; it was Ros.”

“Ros?!” Harry says in astonishment.

“I think she drove me to your house and put me in your bed, Harry,” Ruth smiles. “And Lucas must have been in on some of it, judging from his comment about Ros's magical powers. He did take you home, and perhaps he left the alarm off or the door open. I don't know.” Harry stares at her for a moment and then a sly smile creeps across his lips. “So wouldn't you agree that Rosalind is a good middle name for our daughter?”

“I would agree with that anyway, Ruth, but, yes, I see what you mean.”

Ruth smiles. “It's nice to discover that she cared. No wonder she was so taken with Fiona. She must have _felt_ like her fairy godmother. I can finally forgive all she did to separate us before.” Harry smiles and nods. “She's gone to sleep,” Ruth murmurs as she looks down at Fiona again.

“Give her to me, Ruth,” Harry replies quietly. “You need to sleep now. You're exhausted.”

Ruth nods in agreement and lets Harry take their daughter before she uses the remote control to lower the bed.

“Good night, Fiona,” Harry whispers and kisses his daughter's forehead before placing her in the bassinet by Ruth's bed. “Good night, Ruth,” he says to his wife and kisses her lips softly. “I'll see you in the morning.”

“Good night, Harry,” she murmurs, but her eyes are already closing, and before he gets to the door, she's fast asleep.

 

 

_Next morning, 19th September, 7 am_

 

Harry calls the grid on his way to the birthing centre. “Beth?” he says when she picks up the phone.

“Harry? What news?” she answers in an excited voice.

“It's a girl,” he smiles, the pride he feels shining through in his voice.

“Oh, Harry. Congratulations! Are they both okay?”

“Yes, fine. I'm on my way to see them, and hopefully, bring them home. I need you to clear my schedule for today, Beth. Barring national emergencies, I'm not coming into work. Invent something plausible and innocuous, won't you? A bout of food poisoning, perhaps?”

“Of course, Harry. I'll get right on it. Have you named her yet?”

“Fiona Rosalind Evershed Pearce,” he smiles.

“How lovely. Well, give our love to Ruth, won't you? And a kiss to little Fiona.”

“I will.”

“See you later, Harry, and congratulations again.”

“Thank you, Beth.” He hangs up, smiling broadly.

 

 

_Two weeks later, 3rd October, 11 pm_

 

She hears the front door open, and moments later, Harry enters the kitchen.

“Hello,” she smiles as she turns to face him. He looks exhausted. “Tough day?”

“You could say that,” he nods, pulling his tie loose and undoing the top buttons of his shirt.

“Have you eaten?” she asks as she moves towards him and kisses his cheek lightly.

He pulls her into his embrace and holds her tightly against him for a few moments, drawing comfort and strength from her presence. He really misses her on the grid, and her absence brings back memories of the time when she was in Cyprus, adding to his stress daily. “I missed you,” he murmurs into her neck.

“I missed you too,” Ruth smiles, rubbing his back lovingly. “You look shattered. What happened?”

“The Grid was compromised by the Russians and Chinese, working together,” Harry sighs. “Once they knew we were onto them, they put the grid in lock-down, cutting off all our communications. Then using a computer program that simulated my voice, they ordered Lucas to kill the CIA cyber-expert he was meant to be protecting. Luckily Lucas figured out that it wasn't actually me giving the orders, but despite his best efforts, she was killed.”

“I'm sorry, Harry,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “The cousins must be livid.”

He nods into her neck, relieved that he can still share this information with her. He's managed to convince her to take maternity leave and all her holiday before she's decommissioned, just in case she changes her mind in the next year or so. He doubts that she will, and he suspects that she's only agreed in order to please him and make the transition easier for both of them by making it possible for them to still discuss work with each other. “How's our little one?” he asks, lifting his head to look at her.

“Fine,” Ruth smiles. “She just went back to sleep and I came downstairs to make a cup of tea. You didn't answer my question though. Have you eaten?”

“No.”

“Sit down and I'll get you some supper,” she replies, and releasing him, she moves over to the oven to get his food. Then she reheats it while he sits down at the table and soon they're sitting together, Harry eating his food and Ruth sipping her tea.

“You should be asleep, Ruth,” he says gently.

“Tell that to your daughter, Harry.”

He smiles. “How are you feeling?”

“Weak,” she sighs. “Who'd have thought that just going up and down stairs would be considered strenuous exercise and forbidden by the doctor for several days post-partum? I thought I'd go mad when I was confined to one floor of the house. Now at least I can move about freely, but I get tired so _quickly_. I used to be stronger than this, Harry. It's frustrating.”

“Ruth,” he frowns at her, “you've just given birth and are up all hours of the day and night nursing our little cherub. Cut yourself some slack, okay? You'll be ready for more soon. Enjoy the opportunity you have to lie in bed, reading all the books in the house without feeling guilty that someone else has to take care of all the mundane tasks in life.”

She laughs at that and slowly nods her head. Harry finishes his food, they get up, and after quickly washing up the few items they've used, they make their way upstairs slowly, hand in hand.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated M. Some of the dialogue has been taken from Spooks, but the setting has been altered. The postcard that Ruth sent to Harry is mentioned in Spooks: The Personnel Files (2007). I hope you enjoy. S.C.

 

_Ten days later, 13th October, 8 pm_

 

He's sitting on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table and his knees bent, and Fiona's lying with her head on his knees and her back against his thighs. Her legs are pressed against his abdomen, pushing and kicking against him.

“How about a story?” Harry asks as he presses his finger into her hand. She clutches it tightly in her little fist and he smiles. “You know, your hands are so very tiny, Fiona. I mean, look at this little finger. It's barely longer than my thumb nail. What could you possibly do with a finger that small?... It's funny to think that Daddy's fingers where that small too, once upon a time. Your grandma used to say-” Fiona gurgles at him and he smiles. “Sorry, I'm digressing, aren't I? I promised you a story. Now let me see... I know, would you like to hear some of your big sister's escapades? She was quite a daredevil when she was little. I hope you're not going to be quite that adventurous. I took her to London Zoo one time when she was about three, and she absolutely loved the giraffes. In fact, she was so taken with them that she decided she was going to go to Africa to see them...”

Ruth pauses in the doorway to watch them as she squeezes her damp hair with a towel, smiling at the sight. She'd hoped that once Fiona had been born, Harry would decide to retire. However, she realises now, that _that_ hope had been an unrealistic one. Harry just can't retire so soon after Ros's death even if he wants to; he won't let himself. He needs to make sure he has a competent successor in place and a strong team to continue the good fight. Perhaps in a year, she thinks, when Dimitri has a little more experience under his belt, and Beth has learnt how to play by Harry's rules. And she can't really complain. Even though Harry isn't home early very often, when he _is_ here, he makes a big effort to spend time with Fiona. It's wonderful to see them so happy together, and it's lovely to have the opportunity to have some moments to herself to take a bath and relax. Caring for a small baby's by no means easy, and at times, she feels like her body, and certainly her time, is no longer her own.

She moves quietly to the kitchen, grabs the camera she'd left there earlier, and moves back to the sitting room doorway to take a picture. She focuses, grateful that her camera's an old manual one that doesn't make noises when it focuses like all the modern digital ones, and waits patiently for the perfect shot, the perfect expression. She doesn't have to wait long. A few moments later, Fiona gives a huge yawn, making Harry laugh. Ruth presses the button and takes the picture, causing Harry to look up at her as the shutter clicks, alerting him to her presence.

“I couldn't resist,” she explains with a sheepish smile. Harry hates having his picture taken. “It was such a great shot.” He rolls his eyes and gives her a grudging smile. Fiona starts to whimper when she hears her mother's voice and Ruth sighs.

“You know who's coming, don't you?” Harry asks turning back to Fiona. “Probably a good thing too, seeing as my story was so boring,” he smiles as Ruth takes a seat beside him and kisses his cheek.

“Are you having fun with Daddy?” Ruth asks Fiona before she reaches over and picks her up, placing her on her own lap. Fiona begins to suck hungrily on her fist and she whimpers again. “Is it time for some milk, little one? Come on then.” Harry reaches over to the arm chair, retrieves her nursing cushion, and hands it to her. “Thanks,” she smiles and places it on her lap before turning her daughter round and undoing her top. Soon Fiona's nursing contentedly, staring up at Ruth and kneading her sweater with her hands, making Harry chuckle.

“What?” Ruth asks as she turns to look at him.

“Nothing,” he replies, but he can't stop chortling. Ruth narrows her eyes at him and he murmurs, “It's just funny when she does that with her hands. It's exactly what kittens and puppies do when they suckle.”

Ruth smiles. “I suppose it is. Well, we're all mammals so I imagine it must help the milk flow, or something. She  _is_ milking me after all,” she chuckles. 

“Yes,” he smiles. “I suppose she is.”

He watches her nursing their daughter for a few minutes, feeling a surge of love and protectiveness for the two of them bubble up inside him. He's dreading having to bring up the letter Ruth received today. He has no idea how she'll react, no idea what her feelings are. They've never really talked about what happened with George and the boy. He hasn't had the courage to bring it up. There's so much they've never shared about their pasts, so many secrets. Sometimes he worries that, at some point in the future, something from his past might resurface, drive a wedge between them, and destroy them. Those are the times when he's tempted to open up and share some of his secrets, but fear that she'll despise him and lose all respect for him always holds him back. So instead, he prays that there will never be cause for her to find out what he's done in defence of Queen and Country. Now that she's leaving the service, he's hopeful that his fears will never be realised, that his secrets will go with him to the grave, and that Ruth will always think of him and remember him well.

“A penny for them,” she says quietly.

He glances at her and then looks down at Fiona, who's still nursing, her eyelids beginning to droop. He clears his throat and says tentatively, “A letter arrived for you today... from Cyprus.” He glances up at her and notices the pained look in her eyes before she manages to hide her emotions away. “We set up a forwarding address under your alias. It's standard procedure after... an extraction... It's about the house you owned... with George. His family need to sell it and they want your permission.”

He gets up and goes to get the envelope from his coat pocket, giving her time to process what he's said. He returns with it and places it on the coffee table in front of her. Ruth has already unlatched Fiona and is burping her, rubbing her back as she holds her against her shoulder. He stands uncertainly before her at a loss as to what to do or say to help. “Here,” he says eventually, “give her to me.”

Ruth hesitates for a moment, but then hands Fiona over. Harry takes her, placing her against his chest with her head over his right shoulder as he pats her back gently. “I'll take her up to bed,” he murmurs, and seeing Ruth nod, he leaves the room with their daughter.

When he comes back downstairs, Ruth's still sitting on the sofa, holding the photograph of the boy in her left hand. Her right hand is covering her mouth and her eyes are brimming with tears as she gazes at the picture. He stands uncertainly in the doorway, half of him feeling like running away and the other half wanting to comfort, to protect her. His better half wins in the end, and he takes a few steps forwards and sits down beside her. She turns her head to look at him then and his heart almost brakes at the anguish he sees in her face. Without a word, he reaches for her and pulls her against his chest, one of his hands sliding into her hair and the other rubbing circles against her back while she cries into his shirt.

When her tears slow and her breathing quietens, he murmurs, “Tell me about it, Ruth.”

She pulls away, wipes her eyes, and blows her nose before looking at him and then back at the picture of the boy. “I miss him,” she confesses.

He nods. “How old is he now?” he asks.

“He's eleven,” she smiles wistfully. “He wrote to me. He writes quite well. He always loved reading, you know. Reading and swimming. If he wasn't in the pool, he was curled up on the sofa with a book, or begging me to read to him.”

“You should write to him,” he ventures.

“Oh, no,” she shakes her head. “He's better off with his own people; it's best if he moves on. Besides, it would put him in danger again, and I couldn't do that to him. He's lost enough; his family have lost enough.”

He nods, knowing that what she says is true, but he can't help adding, “Think about it, Ruth. I'm sure that you could find a way to do it without endangering him if you put your mind to it. You managed to get a message to me after all, while you were away.”

She smiles at that, remembering the effort and pain it had cost her to write that final note to him, and the painstaking steps she'd taken to ensure that it would reach him safely without leaving a trail for someone to follow.

“You did the right thing. We both did the right thing. Salus populi suprema lex. Grand tours are less fun alone, but I am well and safe. Look after yourself. I think of you often. Quos amor verus tenuit tenebit,” he quotes. “Signed, Stubborn Mule.”

“You memorized it,” she states with a smile.

“I did,” he nods. “It got me through some dark times. I used to imagine you in all the great capitals of Europe, taking in the sights, sitting in cafés. I wished I could have been with you of course, but it gave me pleasure to think of you enjoying them even if you were on your own...” He looks away suddenly, but not fast enough for her to miss the pained look in his eyes.

“Harry?” she says gently and touches his arm. “What is it?”

He shakes his head and murmurs, “It's nothing.”

She watches him, trying to figure out what's wrong, and it only takes a few moments before she suddenly knows what's bothering him. “It's George, isn't it?” He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to; his silence is as good as an admission.

“You once asked me if I loved him,” she says after taking a moment to collect her thoughts and looking down at her hands as she speaks. “I didn't. I spent almost a year and a half alone, moving around at first, and after I'd settled down in Polis, avoiding contact with anyone, hoping that you'd find a way to come for me and bring me home. And then one day, it was a Tuesday and I was sitting on the beach after work, I suddenly realised that you wouldn't come, that I would never see you again. I felt... like I'd run into a brick wall and I couldn't breathe... and then the tears came, and I cried my heart out, sitting there alone on a beach... A woman stopped to ask me if I was all right, and I didn't know what to tell her. How could I explain that I would never be all right again? So I nodded, wiped away my tears, and went for a swim. I swam out to sea, stroke after stroke, trying to escape the despair that was threatening to overwhelm me. Eventually I got tired and stopped, looking around me for the first time. That's when I realised that I'd swam a very long way out. In fact, I was so far out that I was suddenly scared that I wouldn't be able to make it back. And that's when I realised that I wanted to live, and in order to do that, I needed to let you go. I needed to move on.” 

She sighs heavily, and feels his hand slide over hers gently. She grasps it with both her hands and squeezes it tight, seeking reassurance that he really _is_ here with her. “George was the first man I agreed to date, but not the first who asked. I chose him because he was a good man, but was nothing like you in any other way. I couldn't bring myself to be with anyone who reminded me of you. George was good to me, and I cared for him deeply, but my heart was always yours, Harry. I felt... I suppose I felt as if I'd been widowed. My legend, Gillian Ruth Jamison, was a widow and so was George, so he understood the limitations of what I had to offer him. We shared a contented, peaceful companionship, but I knew I would never fall in love with him. But Nico... Nico was an entirely different story. I loved him; I still do. He's a wonderful boy and I miss him.”

She raises her eyes to look at him and murmurs, “I feel so guilty, Harry. When we were on the plane flying here, my greatest fear wasn't for the safety of my family or myself... My greatest fear was that you wouldn't be here... that you'd been killed in the time I'd been away... And part of me was so _happy_ that I would see you again, that I had a valid excuse to come back.” She shakes her head and looks down again.

Harry reaches over and tilts her chin up so that he can see her eyes. “I know _exactly_ how you feel, Ruth. When Mani told me they were bringing you to that warehouse... I wanted to see you again so much that part of me was pleased that they'd captured you...” He pauses and then admits in a hoarse whisper, “And after they shot George... part of me was pleased that he was out of the picture, that you were free.” He glances away as he says it, the guilt settling in his insides like lead. He swallows and then turns to look at her again. “It's human nature to be selfish sometimes, Ruth. We can't always be knights in shining armour. Sometimes our armour tarnishes and gets dented, but we're still capable of great acts of self-sacrifice and love... And we do love, Ruth... very deeply.”

She nods and squeezes his hand before leaning forward and pressing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “Yes, Harry. We do.”

 

 

_The following night, 15th October, 12 am_

 

He walks into his bedroom and makes his way to the bed silently in his bare feet. The night light in the corner casts a faint glow over his daughter's face as she sleeps peacefully in her bassinet that's attached to their bed. Ruth's hand is resting inches away from their child, and they are both sleeping soundly. His eyes trace their faces lovingly, and he feels his heart rate slow and his breathing even out. Just watching them calms him. He stands there for long minutes, drinking them in, feeling immensely grateful that he finally has something so good in his life again, and hoping... hoping that nothing ever happens to take them away. Losing them is his greatest fear. One last look and he pads over to his side of the bed and retrieves his t-shirt from under the pillow and some clean boxers from the dresser. Then he leaves the room and goes to take a shower.

Silently he enters his bedroom once more and makes his way over to the bed, placing his phone on the bedside table in its charger, and sliding under the covers. He lies back with his head on the pillow and his hands clasped together across his chest, thinking. He knows he wouldn't sleep much, if at all, tonight. He can never sleep when he's worried. And tonight he's very worried. Lucas... no, he corrects himself, John Bateman, is out there somewhere, on the loose, confused, desperate, and unstable. His best officer has turned against them and the rest of his team's too inexperienced to deal with him. God, how he wishes that Ros was still here, or Adam. He's going to have to bring in someone from outside, but who?

“You're thinking too loud,” Ruth whispers as she turns to look at him, running her hand along his upper arm.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you,” he murmurs. There's silence for a few moments as she waits patiently for him to open up, and he doesn't disappoint. “I've lost Lucas,” he whispers, feeling his throat tighten.

“Oh, Harry,” she gasps, lifting herself onto her elbow and moving closer. “What happened?”

He clears his throat and murmurs, “It turns out that he's not Lucas North, but John Bateman, a man who's responsible for the Embassy bombing in Dakar fifteen years ago that killed seventeen people. He's on the run.”

“How did he slip thought the net?” she asks quietly after a moment of shocked contemplation.

“Lucas North had already passed the vetting and all that was left were the interviews,” Harry replies heavily.

“Oh, Harry,” Ruth sighs and runs her hand along his arm and across his chest. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. He was a good officer, no matter what he did in the past, he was a good officer and saved countless lives. Perhaps he'll turn himself in, make a deal.”

“I don't know, Ruth,” Harry sighs and reaches for her, pulling her against his chest. “I hope so... but it's unlikely now. I just feel so...” He pauses, unable to articulate the depth and intensity of his feelings. “I talked to him today. He's after a WMD, a biological weapon that targets people of a specific race. He told me... that Lucas North is dead. I have to treat him as a rogue officer.”

“He hasn't been right since the business with Sarah Crawfield and Ros's death, Harry. What are you going to do?”

“I'm going to have to enlist outside help. Dimitri and Beth are too close to this and just not experienced enough to deal with him.”

“Another Adam Carter?”

“Not from Six,” Harry shakes his head and then suddenly he has an idea. “Alec White. He's a former Five officer, worked for internal affairs and specialized in bringing in rogue agents. I'll see him in the morning.” He turns to look at her and kisses her lips gently. “Thank you.”

“What for?” she asks.

“Helping me figure it out. I think so much better when I talk to you. God, I miss having you on the Grid.”

“And part of me misses being there with you,” she admits. “Especially, when you're late home.”

“Sorry,” he murmurs, kissing her lips again softly.

“Mmmm,” she hums quietly and kisses him back, brushing her tongue against his lips and coaxing them to open. He responds eagerly, letting his fingers tangle themselves in her hair as they gently and silently explore each other's mouths. It's been over four weeks since she's kissed him like this and his body's reaction is swift and potent, all tiredness suddenly forgotten. Concern for her holds him back, however, and he lets her take the lead from the start, waiting for permission before doing anything more.

“Touch me, Harry,” she whispers when they came up for air.

“Tell me when to stop. I don't want to hurt you,” he murmurs and waits for her to nod before he captures her lips with his own once more. His hands slide down her back to the edge of her pyjama top, before he dips them underneath, pulling the material up as he caresses her skin. She lets him slide it all the way up before sitting up to pull it off. Then she helps him remove his shirt too before leaning over him once more to kiss him. Her left leg works its way between his as she lies across his left side, her chest resting on top of his. “I've missed you,” she murmurs against his mouth before pressing her lips to his once more.

Soon their kisses became more demanding and passionate as their hands grows ever bolder. His palm skims across the side of her full breast and she moans into his mouth, grinding herself against his leg and slipping her hand down to caress him through his cotton boxers. He groans and involuntarily presses himself towards her hand. She massages him gently at first and then more firmly, until he can stand it no longer. Without releasing her lips, he rolls her over onto her back, hovering over her chest diagonally and letting his right hand play along her skin, her breast, her nipple, and then slipping under the elastic of her pyjama bottoms to her thighs. She grips his shoulders tightly as her arousal grows and spreads her legs in invitation. His fingers move under the elastic of her knickers, drawn to the wetness between her legs, and they skim over her delicately and gently as he reads her carefully for any signs of being uncomfortable. He feels none, however, so he continues, pressing a little firmer now as his mouth dips down to her breasts, and he licks and caresses them with his lips and tongue. His finger slides inside her gently and he hears her gasp of pleasure at the sensation.

“I want you, Harry. I need you now,” she murmurs and he raises his head to look at her.

“I don't want to hurt you, Ruth,” he whispers with concern. “I can wait.”

“But I can't,” she replies and slides her hand between their bodies to find him. He gasps at the contact and tries to move away, but her hand closes around him tightly as she begins to massage him firmly in just the way she knows he likes it. “I want you,” she repeats and he relents, nodding his head as he fights for control. She lets him go and pulls off her pyjamas and underwear as he does the same. Then he moves between her legs and gently he presses himself against her, watching her face intently for any sign that he should stop. “Don't worry, Harry. I want this,” she murmurs and pulls his head towards her. He kissed her, softly at first and then more firmly as she wraps her arms around his shoulders and pulls him closer, deepening their kiss. He eases himself forward, entering her slowly, giving her time to adjust to his width, moving gently in and out as he slides deeper and deeper inside her.

She aches a little as his cock stretches her, filling her a little more with every thrust, but it's not painful, just a little sore. Once he's all the way inside, he lifts his head and asks, “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she replies quietly. “I'm fine. Don't worry.”

He nods and begins to move, watching her tenderly as he does. “I love you,” he murmurs, “and I've missed you. I've missed this.”

She smiles and begins to move her hips up to meet him as the ache and soreness slowly subsides and the pleasure intensifies. They haven't done this in so long, not like this, not this close, not this deep. By the time they'd started dating, her baby bump had already been large enough to get in the way, and they'd had to adjust their love making around it. It feels so good to have him facing her, kissing her, his body moving against hers all along her front and so deeply inside her.

“Yes,” she whispers. “Oh, Harry. Yes.”

He smiles and dips his head down to capture her lips as he slowly lets go of his restraint when he sees her pleasure. “Ruth,” he murmurs against her lips, “my Ruth.”

They move slowly at first enjoying coming together again after what seems like an eternity, but soon they can no longer hold themselves back and everything is heat and passion and exquisite sensation. He grips her tighter as he drives into her deeper and faster, and she pushes against him, arching her back and meeting him thrust for thrust. Their lips stay close, kissing and caressing between gasps and pants for air.

Suddenly Fiona stirs, letting out a small whimper, and Harry freezes.

“Don't stop,” Ruth gasps.

“I forgot she was here,” he whispers, his breathing rugged.

"She'll go back to sleep," Ruth murmurs. "Don't stop." He looks back at her uncertainly. "She's hardly a month old yet. She doesn't know what's going on. Please, Harry. Don't stop."

He nods and begins to move again as Ruth's hands skid down his sweat dampened back to grasp his bum and she murmurs, "Yes, Harry. Faster," near his ear. His lips find the warm skin of her neck, kissing her repeatedly as he whispers his love for her over and over again and their bodies move together in an increasingly frenzied and yet somehow perfectly harmonious dance.

Ruth brakes first, gasping for breath and shuddering beneath him and around him, but he's hardly aware of it, lost as he is in sensation. When Fiona whimpers again, he doesn't even hear her as he drives into his wife's tender heat again and again before abruptly stilling his motion and emptying himself inside her with a muffled groan against her neck. His muscles tense, trembling slightly with the strain of supporting his weight, when he feels Ruth's hands on his back, pulling him down towards her as she murmurs, "Let go," into his ear. So he does, letting his body fall into her warmth, whispering her name against her neck, and pressing more kisses against her soft skin.

Some time later, he has no idea how much time has passed, he feels Ruth shift slightly below him, and he suddenly becomes aware of the fact that he's probably squashing her flat. He lifts himself onto his elbows, murmuring softly, "I'm sorry, Ruth. I must be crushing you."

"No," she shakes her head as she smiles up at him. "I like it, but I do need to see to Fiona."

He becomes aware of Fiona's protests then. Her quiet whimpers have almost worked up to a cry by now, so he reluctantly slides out of Ruth and rolls onto his back. Ruth turns towards their daughter, picking her up, placing her on the bed next to her, and lying on her side with her back towards Harry. After a couple of unsuccessful tries, Fiona manages to latch on and begins to nurse contentedly, her eyes closing almost immediately.

A couple of minutes pass in silence and then Ruth murmurs, "Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Come here."

He rolls onto his side, moving closer to Ruth and propping himself on his left elbow to look over her shoulder at their daughter. He smiles at the sight. "She's beautiful... though her timing _is_ awful," he murmurs near her ear. She chuckles and opens her mouth to speak, but he beats her to it. "Don't say it," he warns.

"What?" she asks innocently.

"I know you, Ruth," he frowns. "You were going to say that she must take after me, weren't you?"

"It might have crossed my mind," she admits with a small smile.

He sighs and begins to roll away from her.

"Don't," she protests, twisting her head around and pressing a kiss to his cheek when he pauses. "I love you."

He turns his head towards her and captures her lips in a tender kiss before murmuring quietly, "I love you too." Then he moves his head and looks over her shoulder at Fiona again. "She's sleeping," he whispers.

Ruth nods and moves to pick her up, sliding her over to her bassinet as Harry lies back against the pillows and sighs in satisfaction. "God, Ruth, that was good," he whispers a few moments later as Ruth pulls on her pyjama top and lies down with her head on his shoulder. "So very good." He turns his head and presses a kiss against her hair. "Thank you," he murmurs.

"Hmmmm," she hums. "I needed that," she sighs, feeling her body tingle deliciously all over.

He chuckles and presses another kiss to her hair. "Mmmm," he agrees sleepily. "I can't even begin to describe how much _I_ needed that."

“I'm sorry,” she frowns, lifting her head to look at him. “I didn't realise quite how long it's been; all the days seem to have blurred together lately. Why didn't you say something? You didn't need to wait that long.”

“It's all right, Ruth,” he soothes as he closes his eyes in satisfaction. “It's fine. I didn't want to rush you.”

“Harry,” she scolds this time, “you're an idiot.”

He opens his eyes and raises his eyebrows at her in disbelief as he twists round to look at her. In all the years he's known her, he can only recall two occasions on which she's insulted him, once after the EERIE exercise and the second after he'd refused to save Nico, and he's inclined to agree that he'd deserved it both times. Now, however... “I'm sorry, what did you say?” he asks.

“You're an idiot, Harry Pearce,” she reiterates, raising herself on her elbow to look at him. “The whole bloody point of _having_ a wife is so you can feel free to ask for sexual favours when you need them. I make it clear when I need you, and I expect the same courtesy. So please, next time you want sex _tell_ me.”

“But, Ruth-”

“But Ruth nothing. I'm asking you, as a favour, to please let me know next time. If we start holding back now, it's a slippery slope from here, and frankly, you should know that, seeing as you've been down it once before.”

He frowns. Was that really what had happened last time? Had he began holding back? Perhaps. Certainly after Catherine had been born it had been true.

“Promise me, Harry,” she says gently, her eyes softening and pleading with him. “I'll never reject you. I might offer a hand-job instead, but I'll never reject you. Trust me.”

“I do,” he murmurs. “I'm sorry. You're right. I should have said something, but honestly, I thought you had enough to worry about with caring for Fiona.”

“And you didn't want to be an additional burden?” she asks and he nods. “Oh, Harry. I _want_ you to need me and rely on me, _especially_ for sex.”

“All right,” he smiles. “I promise not to hold back again.”

“Good,” she replies and rests her head against his chest again.

A few seconds pass in silence before Harry begins chuckling lightly and then murmurs, “Do you really believe that the _whole_ point of marriage is to feel free to ask for sexual favours?”

She smiles against his chest and replies, “Perhaps I was exaggerating a little when I says it was the _whole_ point, but it's certainly a very important one, wouldn't you agree?”

“Absolutely,” he chuckles. “Life is much more enjoyable when your spouse _insists_ on being available to _lavish_ you with sexual favours whenever the fancy strikes you. Beats bestowing them on yourself any day.”

She laughs lightly and kisses his chest before resting her head back on his shoulder as she continues to chuckle at his turn of phrase. He's really very good with words, she thinks. His timing's often awful, but he's good with words, her Harry. She smiles at the thought. “Good night, Harry,” she whispers.

“Good night, Ruth,” he replies and holds her close, feeling immensely grateful once more to have her in his life.

 


	24. Chapter 24

_Same day, 15th October, 10 am_

 

Ruth hears a noise downstairs, and cradling Fiona against her chest, she pauses to listen. That was the alarm beeping, waiting for the pin code to be entered. Is it Harry, she wonders. Gently she puts her sleeping daughter down in her crib, and makes her way towards the stairs.

 

“Harry!” Tariq bursts into his office. “There's a security breach at your house. The alarm's just gone off. The plods are on their way.”

He looks up in alarm. “Ruth?” he asks and picks up his phone to dial her number.

 

She's half way down the stairs when she spots the intruder. He has his back towards her and is quickly and stealthily moving into the sitting room. She freezes on the spot, her mind working in overdrive to figure out what to do. She could make a dash for the door and run for help, but Fiona's upstairs. Would someone harm a sleeping baby?

She's just made up her mind to make a run for it when the man comes back out of the sitting room and advances towards her swiftly. “Lucas?!” she breathes in disbelief, moments before he grabs her and drags her out of the house and into the waiting van, ignoring her fearful demands to let her go.

 

 

_Same day, 15th October, 10:30 am_

 

He waits at his desk anxiously, every second lasting an eternity.

“We have Fiona,” Dimitri's voice sounds over the comms. “We have Fiona, Harry, but Ruth's gone. She's not in the house. Her bag's here and her phone, but there's no sign of her.”

The momentary relief he feels when he knows his daughter's safe doesn't last long. Ruth's gone and is probably in grave danger. He struggles to keep his voice level as he replies, “Okay. I'll ring someone for Fiona. Leave Grayson there to liaise with the police and keep us updated, and get back here right away, both of you.”

“Understood,” Beth replies.

He draws his hand over his face briefly, fighting the panic that threatens to overwhelm him. He has a job to do. Ruth needs him and he has to be strong for both of them. He picks up his phone to dial Rachel in the hope that she'll be able to help with Fiona, but it rings before he has a chance to enter the number. “Yes,” he says.

“Simple and clean, Harry. A straight swap. Albany for Ruth, today, or you'll never find the body.” Lucas's voice sounds harsh, determined.

“Don't you dare hurt her,” he growls, anger bubbling to the surface in an instant as his gut twists in fear. His worst nightmare has come to pass.

“You've got 90 minutes. We both know that's not enough time to find me.”

 

 

_Same day, 15th October, 3:30 pm_

 

He waits in the car, staring at his phone anxiously, willing it to ring. Please let her be all right, he silently begs. Just let her be all right. The phone rings just once before he answers. There's a pause and then Lucas says, “15 Walmsley Road.”

Relief surges through him and has him closing his eyes momentarily. “Thank you,” he says hoarsely, the gratitude he feels shining through in his voice.

“It's not me you have to thank,” Lucas replies and hangs up.

Harry turns to the driver and says in an urgent voice, “Walmsley Road. Now! Have paramedics meet us there.”

The trip seems to take forever. When the car finally stops outside the warehouse, Harry jumps out and rushes into the building, bursting through the door in haste. He sees her, lying on a flat surface, hooked up to an I.V. “Ruth!” he calls, moving swiftly to her side. He unplugs the I.V. and gently cups her face with his hands. She's warm. “She's alive,” he utters in relief and steps aside to let the paramedics get to her, looking on anxiously as they examine and treat her.

With Ruth safe, his attention turns to the matter of Albany, and he listens in on the comms through his phone. His team are hot on the heals of Lucas and Maya, however moments later, there's an ominous silence for a few seconds and then Alec says, “Harry, we found the tracker. Maya Lahan's dead.”

He feels his stomach drop. “And Lucas?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.

“He's gone,” Dimitri answers this time. “We've lost Albany.”

 

 

_Next day, 16th October, 5 pm_

 

She waits silently by the phone, her mind a confused mass of emotions. Love, anger, hurt, despair... She shouldn't have been so hard on him today. How could she have told him that it wasn't fair of him to love her? And yet, how could he have given up something as awful as Albany to save just her? How could he justify sacrificing thousands of lives for just one, no matter how precious to him? These aren't the actions of the Harry she knows and loves. She just can't wrap her mind around it, can't understand.

They'd barely had a change to talk since she'd come round in that warehouse. She'd been taken to hospital and he'd gone back to the Grid to try and locate and retrieve Albany. They'd kept her in the hospital overnight for observation, and when she'd come to the Grid this morning to be debriefed and she'd confronted him, he hadn't had a chance to explain anything. And then he was gone. He'd left to go and meet John Bateman, and in all likelihood, will die. And what had she done? Had she comforted him, touched or kissed him, said goodbye? No. The last thing he'd heard from her lips had been condemnation, and it's eating her alive. She'd been so cruel... And now, how can she live without him? Tears begin to slide down her cheeks as the minutes tick by and still there's no word from Harry. Please let him be all right, she thinks desperately as the tears turn into sobs. She can't bear it any more, can't sit still any longer; she has to get away. Abruptly she gets up and turns around, spotting Tariq standing quietly by her side, unsuccessfully fighting back tears of his own.

“I'm going home to Fiona,” she states in an unsteady voice.

“Okay,” he nods. “I'll call when I hear...”

She swallows, trying desperately to hold back the fresh tears that threatened to fall. “Thank you, Tariq,” she manages and turns to leave.

On the way home, she sits silently in the back of the car as Mike drives. He doesn't speak, though it's evident that he's concerned for her. It takes half an hour to get there, but still there's no news. Holding herself together with extreme effort and sheer determination, she enters the house. Rachel's in the sitting room, holding Fiona and cooing to her softly.

“Ruth!” she says in surprise, and then seeing her distress, asks, “What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lies, shaking her head even though she knows she isn't fooling anyone. “I just need to hold her,” she manages.

“Of course,” Rachel agrees and hands the baby over as Ruth sits down.

“Thank you,” Ruth murmurs and looks down at Fiona. Her daughter smiles and then begins to whimper as she realises that her mum's home and she can finally nurse. Ruth immediately undoes her top and lets her latch on, smiling for a moment down at her daughter despite the tears streaming down her face and the ache in her heart. “Oh, Fi,” she murmurs as the baby focuses on her with her beautiful, blue eyes. How she wishes in this moment that her eyes were hazel. She'll never see his gorgeous, hazel eyes again. She feels Rachel's arm go round her back and she turns her face towards her, leaning on her shoulder as she accepts the comfort she's offering, and she weeps, sobbing her heart out for the man she loves and will never see again.

Her phone rings, intruding on her grief, but she ignores it.

“Shall I get it?” Rachel asks quietly.

“Okay,” Ruth manages. She's dreading what Tariq's going to say. She has no hope left, and she doesn't want to hear the finality of Tariq's words. Rachel gets up and retrieves Ruth's phone from the hall table, bringing it back to Ruth and offering it out to her. She shakes her head, so Rachel answered it for her.

“Hello,” she says. “Ruth's phone.”

“Rachel?” Harry's voice carries clearly across to Ruth and she gasps in shock. “Put Ruth on the phone, please.”

Rachel hands it over and Ruth snatches it from her hand, bringing it quickly to her ear. “Harry?” she whispers.

“Ruth,” he caresses her name. “Are you okay? Tariq says-”

“I'm fine,” she replies as she tries to calm her breathing and hide the fact that she'd been crying. “I'm fine now. Are you?”

“Yes,” he answers. “And Fiona?”

“She's fine. Rachel took good care of her,” Ruth smiles gratefully at her companion, who returns her smile, glad that Ruth seems to be feeling better.

“Right,” Harry says. “Listen, I'd better go.”

“Okay,” she nods. “What happened to Lucas?”

“He's dead,” Harry sighs. “Jumped off the top of the building.”

“Oh, God,” she gasps. “I'm sorry, Harry.”

“Me too,” he admits his voice taking on a defeated tone for a moment.

“Did he... did he hurt you? Are you injured?” Ruth asks tentatively.

“Just a small cut on my forehead,” he replies in his usual firm, brisk tones. “Nothing to worry about. I have to go.”

“Okay,” she nods and opens her mouth to tell him that she loves him, but she doesn't get the chance to before he hangs up.

 

 

_Later that night, 17th October, 1 am_

 

He lets himself into the house, removes his coat and shoes, and makes his way straight to his decanter in the sitting room, pouring himself a large whisky. He takes a large gulp of his drink, and walking over to his arm chair, he sits down heavily. What a mess! His life's falling apart around him and he feels like he's drowning in quick-sand. It's all happening so fast, Lucas's betrayal, losing Albany, his enemies going for blood, Ruth... It's unfair of him to love her, she'd said. Since she'd uttered those words, they've haunted him whenever he's had a spare minute to think. Sighing, he takes another gulp of his whisky, draining the glass, and gets up to refill it.

He sets it down on the table and is about to pick up the decanter when a noise from behind him has him turning round. Ruth's standing in the doorway looking like she's just seen a ghost. He watches as she raises her hand to cover her mouth, her eyes swimming with tears. Next moment, a sob escapes her, and she practically runs across the room and throws herself into his arms. He catches her, wrapping his arms around her and holding her to his chest, burying his face in her hair and inhaling her sweet scent.

“Harry,” she breathes. “Oh, Harry. I'm so sorry. So very sorry. Forgive me, please. Oh God, I love you. Please, forgive me. I thought I'd lost you.” She begins to cry, holding onto him as if her life depends on it and begging him to forgive her, and as she rambles on, he feels a weight lift from his shoulders and the cracks in his heart begin to mend. She loves him, and even though she doesn't know the truth about Albany, it doesn't matter; right now, she doesn't care. She's just happy they're both alive and together again.

“Hey, hey,” he murmurs. “Shhhhh... It's okay, Ruth. I'm here. I'm fine. Shhhhh....” He strokes her hair and holds her until her sobs subside and her breathing quietens. Then he lifts his head and moves back a little so he can see her face. “I love you, Ruth. I can't help it. I'll always love you and I'll always save your life if I can. Albany's not real. It never got past the first stage of development, but the Russians got wind of it and it worked as a deterrent. I couldn't lose you over something that wasn't going to harm anyone. I'm sorry I never got the chance to explain that.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sighs as fresh tears began to stream down her cheeks.

“Don't cry, my love,” he murmurs. “Please, don't cry.”

“I let you walk away... I thought you were going... to die... and I didn't even... say goodbye,” she says, her words punctuated by sobs. “I didn't tell you... how much I love you... I shouldn't have let you go... without fixing things.... between us.”

“And neither should I,” he smiles, wiping her tears away with his thumbs. “We were both wrong to let our last words to each other be angry and hurtful. We're both to blame, Ruth, but we can try to do better in the future, yes? Never go to bed angry or upset.”

She nods, making an effort to get her body under control and stop crying. “Yes,” she says after a moment.

He leans forward and presses his lips gently against hers, tasting the salt of her tears on them. “I love you, Ruth. Always and forever. And I can't even begin to describe how glad I am that Lucas was after Albany and not a secret stash of Uranium.”

“Me too, Harry. Me too,” she sighs and buries her face in his shoulder as she holds him in a fierce embrace.

He wraps his arms around her tighter and kisses her hair before saying, “I'm going to resign.”

“What? Are you sure?” she asks lifting her head to look at him.

“Yes,” he nods. “It's going to be close to impossible to save my career now, but in any case, I know it's time. I can't do this any more. I can't lose any more officers and I can't lose you. Lucas has to be the last. I'm leaving, and hopefully by resigning, I will be able to leave on better terms that if they kick me out.”

She looks alarmed at the prospect of the consequences he might face. “You think they'll charge you with treason?”

“It's possible,” he nods, “but doubtful. I hope to avoid going to prison. I know a lot of unsavoury things about most of the people that are likely to be on the enquiry panel, and I suspect that they'll be willing to just let me go quietly through the back door, though it will probably mean the loss of my knighthood. But as I never wanted it in the first place, it's no big deal.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Ruth smiles tentatively. “I quite like shagging a knight of the realm.”

He chuckles and murmurs, “Well, you'd better enjoy it while it lasts, _Lady_ Pearce.”

“Oh, I intend to, _Sir_ Harry,” she grins and captures his lips in a searing kiss.


	25. Chapter 25

_One week later, 24th October, 11 am_

 

“Ah, Harry. Come in,” William Towers says as he turns from the window to face him.

“Home Secretary,” Harry replies and walks across the room to stand before his desk.

“Drink?” Towers offers.

“It's a little early for me, Home Secretary.”

“Tea then? Coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

Towers gestures for Harry to take a seat and sits down behind his desk.

“I'd like to offer my resignation,” Harry begins when he sits down, prompting Towers to raise an eyebrow at him. “I understand that the incident with Albany has provided the perfect opportunity for my enemies to attempt to remove me, and I'm inclined to agree that it's time for me to move on. I'm prepared to leave quietly through the back door without a fuss, provided my conditions are met.”

“Harry,” Towers replies, “I'm not sure you're in any position to demand anything right now. You gave away a state secret to save the life of your... lover.”

“My wife,” Harry corrects calmly.

“Wife?” Towers asks in confusion.

“Ruth and I were married almost two months ago,” Harry clarifies.

“Jesus wept, Harry!” Towers exclaims. “This gets worse and worse.”

“I am sure that depends on your point of view, Home Secretary.”

“I'm sorry, Harry,” Towers replies. “I didn't mean to imply that I'm not pleased for you and Ruth, however, the fact remains that you gave away a state secret for personal reasons. You let your personal feelings take precedence over the interests of the state, and you failed to inform your superiors of the change in your relationship with one of your officers!”

“I disagree,” he replies and Towers's eyebrows shoot up in surprise at his statement. “I _did_ fail to inform my superiors about my marriage. It was my intention to let you know soon. It was a source of unease for Ruth, and I did not wish to put undue stress on her during her pregnancy. It did not seem to matter if there was a delay of a few weeks, especially since she was on leave.”

“But the fact that John Bateman knew of your relationship gave him good reason to target her specifically.”

“That is correct,” Harry sighs. “I'm sure you're aware that Ruth has been used to try to force my hand before, Home Secretary. It is true that my team was aware of the feelings we harbour for each other as were others in the Security Services and Government, including yourself.” Towers nods in acknowledgement. “Being married to Ruth, therefore, did not change anything. I loved her before and I love her still. As for handing over Albany, I would have followed the same course of action to save any one of my officers. My intention was to get Albany back before it left the country as you well know. John Bateman was one of my most capable officers, and I knew that he would see through any kind of bluff I tried to pull. My only hope to rescue my officer was to deliver the genuine article, and then get it back from him later. It was unfortunate that Maya Lahan was killed, and we were unable to track Bateman any longer.

“State secret or not, Albany does not work and poses no threat to any lives, and forgive me, Home Secretary, but I strongly believe that lives are more important than deterrents in the grand scheme of things. Ruth Evershed is one of my best officers, and I believe, on a professional level, that she is more valuable to the country than Albany. I have prepared a report that details her involvement in our operations over the last eight years that I hope illustrates her worth.” Leaning forward he places the report on the table. Towers reaches for it and flicks through it as Harry continues. “I believe myself to be fortunate that my professional and personal opinions on the best course of action coincided in this instance, Home Secretary.”

Towers nods. “Very well, Harry. I shall read this. Now, tell me, what it is you want.”

“I have served my country to the best of my abilities for the best part of my adult life, and in recognition of that service, I wish to leave quietly, through the back door, with my full pension and benefits due. Ruth will receive no reprimand of any kind for her role in all this. I intend to live a quiet life in the country after I retire. If a slap on the wrist is required for appearances sake, I will willingly give up my knighthood in return for the rest.”

“Harry,” Towers replies, “I'm not sure this will be possible. Handing over a state secret is tantamount to treason, and is rarely, if ever, rewarded with a full pension and a slapped wrist.”

“I think you will find, Home Secretary,” Harry answers as he leans back in his seat and pressed his fingertips together, “that most of the people on the panel that will be convened tomorrow will agree that it is a reasonable compromise, which will avoid a lot of unsavoury things coming out.”

Towers narrows his eyes. “Are you threatening them, Harry?”

“On the contrary, Home Secretary,” Harry smiles. “I am reminding them that we are all human and have all made decisions at some point in our careers that did not reflect well on ourselves and whose outcomes did not turn out as anticipated, despite our best intentions. Dragging up the past will solve nothing. They want me out and I want to leave. Surely that is a win-win situation.”

Towers smiles and nods his head. “I'll see what I can do, Harry.”

“Thank you, Home Secretary.”

 

 

_Same day, 24th October, 6 pm_

 

He walks into the house and removes his coat and shoes, sliding his feet into his slippers. It still feels rather odd to be wearing them, but Ruth had been adamant about the importance of removing shoes at the door now that they have Fiona. At the time, he'd felt like pointing out that she won't be crawling for some months yet, but he hadn't. It isn't really such a big deal, and certainly not worth having an argument over it. He peers into the sitting room and the kitchen, looking for Ruth, but both rooms are empty. Then he hears a noise coming from upstairs, so he makes his way to the staircase, and slipping off his slippers so as not to make a sound, he stealthily goes upstairs.

He follows the sounds to their bedroom and peers in through the crack between the door and its frame. Ruth's sitting on the bed talking to Fiona, who's lying on her back and gurgling up at her mother. This is normal enough behaviour for the pair of them, but what has him transfixed is the conversation.

“Ana behibek, Fiona,” Ruth says. “Wo ai ni, Fiona... Tora dust midaram, Fiona...Σ'αγαπώ, Fiona...Je t'aime, Fiona... Ich liebe dich, Fiona... Ti amo, Fiona... Ya tebya liubliu, Fiona... Te amo, Fio-”

“Ruth,” he murmurs as he steps into the room, “what on earth are you doing?”

She blushes as she turns towards him and replies with a sheepish smile, “I've decided to teach Fiona another language, and I was trying to see if she has a preference for one of them.”

He stares at her for a moment in astonishment, and then a slow smile spreads across his lips. Stepping up to the bed and leaning over it, he presses his lips firmly against hers before pulling back and saying, “Do you have _any_ idea how much I love you, Ruth?”

“I do,” she smiles, surprised at his sudden declaration of love. He isn't normally this demonstrative, but when he does occasionally express his love for her in such an unrestrained manner, it makes her feel wonderful.

“Good,” he declares and holds her gaze for a moment longer before turning his head to look at Fiona. His daughter immediately smiles and starts to gurgle at him. “Hello, beautiful,” he murmurs and reaches down to kiss her forehead and stroke her soft, downy hair. “Is mummy teaching you lots of clever things?” Fiona gurgles in answer and smiles again.

“Such a daddy's girl already,” Ruth sighs, making Harry smile.

“All girls are daddy's girls,” he says wisely as he sits down next to Ruth.

“And they all have them wrapped around their little finger,” she smiles.

Harry chuckles. “Speaking from personal experience, are you, Ruth?”

“Possibly,” she replies as her thoughts drift to her own father. “I'm not telling,” she adds lightly with a smile. Thinking of her father no longer fills her with sadness. There's always a brief pang of pain and regret that he's not here to see his granddaughter, but that's all.

He gazes at her lovingly, enjoying their playful banter. Then he reaches out and pushes a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. “You're beautiful, Ruth,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” she blushes. She's still not used to receiving complements from Harry, though again it's not something he does often. “So what do you think of my idea?” she asks in an attempt to change the subject.

“Teaching Fiona another language,” Harry asks with a mischievous glint in his eye, “or having a one month old baby choose which one?” She slaps his shoulder lightly in irritation, making him chuckle. Then kissing her lips softly again in apology, he adds, “I think it's an excellent idea if you don't mind doing it.”

“But which one, Harry?” she asks earnestly.

“Whichever you feel most comfortable using. After all, you will be speaking it every day with her for years.”

“You're right,” she sighs. “The problem is that I'm fluent in so many.”

“Oh, yes, Ruth,” he murmurs sarcastically, “I can see how most people would agree that that's indeed a _huge_ problem.”

“ _Harry_ ,” she warns and he relents, realising that she really wants his help to decide.

“Which one feels closest to you? Which one means something?” he asks, softening his gaze to let her know that he's done teasing her.

“Greek,” she whispers and looks at him uncertainly.

“Because of Nico?” he probes gently.

“Yes,” she nods. She pauses for a little while and then adds, “It's funny really because we didn't speak a lot of Greek. George insisted that Nico speak English at home so that he practised, but sometimes, when George was on call and had to work late, I'd pick Nico up from school and he'd start telling me about his day in Greek. I never had the heart to stop him, and eventually, it became our little secret. We'd speak Greek at home when it was just the two of us and English when George was with us. It was very good for my Greek. Nico used to laugh at me when I made mistakes.”

A wistful smile settles on her lips and he feels his heart ache for her. He knows what it's like to lose a son, and it's something he wouldn't wish on anyone, least of all the woman he loves more that he'd ever thought possible. He still feels guilty for his role in the loss of George and Nico, even though he knows that there's nothing he could have done to save the doctor. His fate was sealed the moment he'd been taken. All four of them were meant to die on that day. It had only been a matter of time. He knows that, Ruth knows that, his team knows that. He'd done the only thing he could under the circumstances - bought them all as much time as he could, and because of his actions and those of his team, three of them had survived. But not George, and not Ruth's relationship with Nico.

“It's a very useful language to know,” Ruth's saying now. “Especially if she wants to study medicine. It'll be easy for her to remember all the nomenclature because she'll understand what it all means.”

He nods and pulls her towards him, wrapping her in his arms and kissing her hair. “Greek it is then,” he murmurs.

“Thank you,” she says after a moment. She knows that it can't be easy for him to hear about her life away from him, or about her pain at losing Nico. On some level where logic doesn't enter into things, she knows that he feels responsible for what happened in the same way that she does.

“I love you,” he replies simply and then reaches down and gives Fiona his finger. Their daughter grabs it in her little fist and attempts to bring it to her mouth. Harry, however, keeps pulling it back out of her grasp just before she succeeds. They watch her, smiling at her determination as she attempts her task again and again. “She's as stubborn as her mother,” Harry teases.

“Oh, yes,” Ruth replies sarcastically, “because her father is not stubborn at all.”

Harry laughs and murmurs, “We're in big trouble if she's got a double dose, Ruth.”

Ruth smiles and replies, “Not if we always present a united front, Harry.”

He nods, and at last, lets Fiona bring his finger to her mouth successfully. She chews on it happily while making incoherent gurgling noises.

“What about you, Harry?” Ruth asks after a bit.

“No,” he shakes his head, immediately understanding the shift in conversation. “I'm sticking to English. I never liked German, I hate Russian, and I can't stand French. I've also forgotten almost all the Persian I knew, but I was never a big fan of that language either. ”

“Spanish?” she ventures.

“No,” he frowns. “Sorry, Ruth. Unlike you, I learned foreign languages when I was stationed abroad. Consequently, I have very few pleasant memories associated with any of them.”

“Okay,” she nods, conceding defeat. “Two languages are good enough for a start.”


	26. Chapter 26

_Same day, 24th October, 7 pm_

 

Fiona begins to whimper. “Are you hungry, Fiona?” Ruth asks.

“Most likely, yes,” Harry smiles. “It's past dinner time and I, for one, am starving.”

“I'm sorry, Harry,” Ruth sighs. “I was going to start dinner, and then she woke up and I got a little distracted. I'm going to have to feed her first and then I'll-.”

“Don't worry, Ruth,” he interrupts. “I'll go order us some Chinese while you feed our little cherub.”

“You're wonderful, Harry,” she sighs and kisses his cheek.

“I have my moments,” he admits and gets off the bed.

Forty minutes later, Fiona's asleep in her crib, and Harry and Ruth are sharing a meal in the kitchen.

“So, any news today?” Ruth asks.

“Yes,” he nods, swallowing his mouthful before continuing. “It'll be official tomorrow once the panel convenes, but basically, I am to resign in disgrace citing what happened with my Section Chief as the reason behind my decision to leave. No one gets the blame for the loss of Albany, seeing as the government has made a deal with the Chinese about it. Funds from an MI-5 shadow account will be used to pay me my pension in full, and it looks like I even get to keep the knighthood as all this has been arranged behind closed doors, and no one wants to have it all aired in front of the Forfeiture Committee. So that should make you happy, Lady Pearce.”

She chuckles and shakes her head, “You know I'm as impressed by your knighthood as you are, Harry. However, I'll admit that, when I disengage the rational part of my brain, it does give my romantic sensibilities a boost. It's a shame really that it doesn't come with a white stallion and a sword.”

He laughs and replies, “I haven't ridden a horse in two decades, Ruth. I'm not sure neither I, nor the horse would survive the experience.”

“But surely it's like riding a bicycle, Harry,” she teases.

“No, Ruth,” he replies with a suggestive smile. “That's sex you're thinking of.”

She chuckles at his retort, though she can't prevent a blush from rising to her cheeks as she answers, “I am now.”

His eyes darken considerably and he's suddenly regarding her with unmasked desire. It always amazes her that Harry can go from sub zero temperatures to boiling hot in less than a few seconds. Even when they've had an argument and he's giving her the cold shoulder, a few well chosen words, gestures or touches can turn him into a fiery lover in an instant, something she's immensely grateful for because, apart from anything else, the make up sex is spectacular. And even more surprising to her is the fact that he only has to look at her like that, or touch her in a certain way, and she's right there with him, horny and wet in the blink of an eye.

“Anyway,” he growls in a deep voice, “who says I don't have a sword?”

“You do?” she asks in surprise.

“Mmmmm,” he hums, leaning closer. “Don't you remember? You've been impaled on it enough times.”

“ _Harry!_ ” she exclaims, blushing furiously at his lewd remark.

“What?” he asks innocently though his eyes are twinkling with a mixture of mischief and desire. He's a little surprised at his own daring in making such a bawdy comment. He's never done it before with Ruth, but he finds he's thoroughly enjoying her reaction. Unsettling her like this is a lot of fun, especially as she's usually so calm and in control.

“Well... I'd say it's more like a shotgun, seeing as it fires numerous small pellets,” she replies quietly, her cheeks still flaming, and though she refuses to let him fluster her into silence, she can't quite meet his eye as she says it.

He blinks in surprise and a sly smile creeps across his lips. “You never fail to surprise me, Ruth,” he murmurs quietly, his gaze softening as he looks at her with eyes full of love and admiration.

“Anyway,” she whispers with a smile as she dares to lift her eyes to his. “I'd say that the analogy to a weapon of any kind is fundamentally flawed, seeing as it doesn't cause pain and suffering, but instead brings so much pleasure and creates life.”

He watches her quietly, marvelling at her wit, her beauty, and her love for him that's so apparent in her eyes. It's incredibly clear to him in that moment just how much he doesn't deserve her. She's good, kind, smart, sweet, and beautiful, and he's a hard, dark, cold, calculating, and damaged bastard. He doesn't deserve her, but by God, he needs her, and he promises himself in that moment that he'll endeavour to deserve her, to be more like the man she sees in him. He _will_ do better.

“Where to today, Lady Pearce?” he murmurs huskily as he watches her intently, wanting her, needing her. Lately they've taken to making love all over the house, partly because Fiona now shares their room and they're worried about waking her, and partly because it's a lot of fun to vary the routine, if it can be called that when they've only been together for a few months.

“Right here looks pretty good to me, Sir Harry,” she replies and moves to straddle him swiftly, capturing his lips in hers.

 

 

_One week later, 1st November, 6 am_

 

He opens his eyes and immediately realises that something's different. For one thing, Ruth's awake. In fact, she's propped up on one elbow watching him as he sleeps. He frowns as he tries to work out what's going on, but moments later, she tells him.

“Happy birthday, Harry,” she smiles and leans down to kiss his lips.

“Mmmmm,” he hums as he responds and slides his fingers through her hair, deepening the kiss. When they brakes apart a minute or so later, they're both breathless. Moving his hand to cup her cheek, he murmurs, “I've dreamt of this birthday present for at least six years.”

She smiles and then says, “You never told me, Harry. When did you know? About us.”

“Well, I was attracted to you from the start, Ruth. When I left your interview, I knew I wanted you, and I suppose, on a subconscious level, that's probably the reason why I agreed to let you join my team even though I was almost certain you were sent there to spy on my department.” She frowns at him and opens her mouth to speak, but he presses on. “A couple of weeks later, you more than proved your worth as an analyst when you identified Noah Gleeson as our hacker simply from a quote, and I was suitably impressed. But I don't believe I knew that what I felt was more than sexual attraction, until you started stalking John Fortescue,” he admits with a smile.

“I wasn't stalking him!” she exclaims in indignation.

“What would you call it then?” he grins.

“Well... I suppose it was a little stalkerish,” she frowns. “I was lonely and so was he, and he was _so_ much like me. We had the same interests and his voice was lovely,” she sighs, then she smiles, adding, “but not nearly as wonderful as yours. I loved you even then, you know. I didn't realise quite how much I'd fallen for you until Tom shot you. But I thought it would never work, so I tried to look elsewhere.”

“Why did you think that?”

“Well initially, it was because I thought it was one sided. Then I realised that you wanted me, but I didn't think your interest would last long. I thought it was just lust since, after all, you did have a terrible reputation when it came to women. When I eventually realised that it might be more, I still couldn't convince myself that it would work out long term, mainly because you were my boss and I stood to lose so much if it didn't,” she sighs. “Such a lot of time wasted.”

“Not waisted,” he replies. “We work because we trust each other, Ruth. This may come as a surprise, but I don't trust many people.” She chuckles and he smiles as he continues, “In fact, I don't trust anyone else implicitly like I do you. It takes time to build that kind of faith in another person. Perhaps it wouldn't have lasted if we'd moved faster. We'll never know.”


	27. Chapter 27

_Same day, 1st November, 11 am_

 

“Yes?” he answers the phone.

“Dad? It's Catherine.”

“Catherine,” he smiles. “How are you?”

“Fine, Dad. Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you free for lunch, Dad?”

“Are you in London?” he asks in surprise.

“Yes. I got in a couple of days ago. I'd like to buy you lunch. You know, for your birthday.”

“You don't have to do that, but I'd love to meet you all the same. What time?”

“Does half past twelve work for you?”

“Yes. That's fine.”

“Good. I'll meet you at the place we went to last time. Remember?”

“Yes,” he smiles. “I remember.”

“And Dad?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

He swallows. “I love you too.”

“I...um... I have something to tell you.”

“And I you,” he replies after a moment's hesitation.

“Okay. Good. See you there then. Bye.”

“Bye, Catherine. See you in a bit.”

 

 

_Same day, 1st November, 12:30 pm_

 

“Enjoy your lunch,” Ruth smiles and kisses his cheek.

“I will,” he nods. “Are you sure you won't join us?”

“No, Harry,” she shakes her head. “I ate that sandwich half an hour ago, remember? And besides, you need to catch up with Catherine and break it to her gently.”

“I'll try,” he sighs. “I'll ring you when we're done in case you're still around.”

“All right,” Ruth nods, kisses his cheek once more, and walks away.

Harry watches her for a moment and then turns and walks in the opposite direction. Two blocks down the road, he turns left and enters a small restaurant.

“Good afternoon, Sir. May I help you?” the hostess greets him.

“I'm meeting someone,” he answers and indicates Catherine, who's sitting at a table in the far corner of the room.

“Ah, of course, Sir. Right this way.” She smiles and leads him towards Catherine.

She looks nervous as he approaches and he begins to feel a little anxious. When he's a couple of yards away, she addresses the hostess, saying, “Would you please give us a moment?”

The girl looks surprised but doesn't argue, simply saying, “Of course,” as she puts down Harry's menu on the table and turns to go back to her post by the door.

“Catherine...” he begins uncertainly as he takes another step forward.

“The thing I wanted to tell you about,” she says and hesitates. He watches her apprehensively. “Well...” she murmurs and stands up.

Harry's eyes widen as he takes in the size of her abdomen. “You're... pregnant!” he states in amazement.

“Yes,” she whispers. “I'm due mid January.”

He's speechless for a few seconds, but then a broad smile appears on his lips as he steps forward, and in an unusual display of affection towards his daughter, he pulls her into his arms. “Catherine, that's wonderful. Congratulations,” he murmurs near her ear.

She hugs him back, surprised by his reaction, and feels tears spring to her eyes. He pulls back after a moment, and seeing her wet cheeks, he reaches into his pocket and produces a handkerchief. “Thank you,” she murmurs as she wipes away her tears and mutters, “Bloody hormones.” He laughs, a rich, warm sound that has her staring at him in surprise. “Okay. Who are you and what have you done with my father?” she jokes.

He smiles. “How about we take a seat, order our food, and I'll tell you all about it?”

“Sounds like a plan,” she nods and sits down.

Once they've placed their orders and the waitress has taken away their menus, he asks, “So do I also have a son-in-law that I don't know about, Catherine?”

She blushes and shakes her head. “We're not married yet.” Harry just raises his eyebrows at her, waiting for her to continue, so she sighs and adds, “Richard's a photographer and camera man. We met almost two years ago, and he helped me film my latest documentary about Sudan. We just finished filming last week and now I have two months to get it canned before my life turns upside down.”

“Do you love him?” Harry asks, taking her by surprise. She'd been expecting him to grill her on his name, background, and character, but not to ask about her _feelings_.

“Yes,” she smiles, “I do. He's wonderful, Dad. So talented and supportive. We work so well together. It's as if he knows what I'm thinking and vis versa. I went down with a nasty bout of flu when we were over there, and I was really worried about getting behind in filming. But he said that he'd make sure that it got done and that I was to rest, and it was wonderful to have someone there whom I could trust to get the shots I wanted. Last time I got sick, I didn't get better for almost a month as I kept working because there was no one I could trust to do the job well.”

Harry smiles. “What?” she asks, but he shakes his head and absently lifts his left hand to cover his mouth, unable to put into words the similarity between his feelings for Ruth and what Catherine has just described. Catherine's eyes widens in disbelief. “Dad! You got married?!”

Harry lowers his hand slowly and glances down at his wedding ring. “Yes,” he nods.

“When? To whom?”

“In August,” he answers. “Ruth and I got married in August.”

“Ruth?” Catherine asked in amazement. “Not _the_ Ruth?”

“The very same,” he smiles, pleased that his daughter's remembered.

“But I thought she went away... forever,” she says in a puzzled voice as she recalls the heartbroken look on her father's face when he'd told her about the woman he loved, the woman who'd sacrificed everything to save him from prison. He'd been so uncharacteristically open on that night, about five years ago now, when she'd turned up on his doorstep unexpectedly. He'd also been completely wasted, which probably accounts for him confiding in her at the time.

“She returned two years ago, but things were... difficult for a while,” he tries to explain. “And then...” he smiles at the memory of what Ros had done.

“What?”

“It would seem that our colleagues got tired of our inability to work things out, and they decided to play Cupid,” he chuckles.

“Gosh! What did they do?” Catherine asks, intrigued.

Harry clears his throat and looks down at his hands as he murmurs, “They put Ruth in my bed when we both passed out from drink at the office Christmas party.” Catherine begins to laugh. He lifts his eyes to watch her and smiles, amazed at how the sound of her laughter hasn't changed much since she was a little girl. Then bracing himself for her reaction he adds, “You may think it's funny now, but I'm not sure you'll be pleased when I tell you that you now have a baby sister as a result of their devious plan.”

“What?!” she exclaims, sobering at once and staring at him in shock.

“Fiona Rosalind Evershed Pearce,” he states calmly. “Born on the 18th of September, at five minutes to midnight, weighing 7lb 6oz.”

“Blimey!” Catherine exclaims lifting her hands to cover her mouth. “ _Dad!_ ”

He says nothing, waiting for the shock to wear off. He never expected her to be able to process such a monumental revelation quickly.

“Gosh, Dad. I don't know what to say... I mean... congratulations. I... Can I see her?”

He blinks in relief and nods. “Of course.”

“When?” she says eagerly. “And Ruth, when can I meet Ruth?”

“Are you free tomorrow evening?” he asks. “You and Richard could come round for dinner at my place, or lunch if that works better. I'd like to meet him.”

“I'm free, but I'll have to check with Richard,” she replies. “Hang on, I'll ring him.” She dials his number as the waitress appears with their food.

He watches her, taking in her radiant face and the way her eyes sparkle as she talks to the man she loves. He hopes that this man will love her, support her, and cherish her always, that they'll build a love as deep and steadfast as his and Ruth's has proved to be.

His thoughts are interrupted when she covers the mouth piece and says to him, “He's busy, but he could do tea around four?”

“Fine,” he nods.

“What? Really? You can meet at four? What about work?” she asks in surprise.

“I've retired, Catherine,” he smiles. “Did I forget to mention that part?”

She stares at him for a moment, and then shakes her head at him and smiles as she turns back to her phone call.


	28. Chapter 28

_Next day, 2nd November, 4 pm_

 

“I'll get it,” he calls as he moves to answer the door.

“Hi, Dad,” Catherine smiles when the door opens, and stepping forward, she embraces him and kisses his cheek.

It seems that his reaction yesterday to the news of her pregnancy has unlocked a warmth towards him that she's kept in check for years, and he returns her embrace gladly. “Hello, Catherine,” he says as he releases her and steps back to let her enter his home.

She steps through the door and is closely followed by a man of about the same height as Harry. With an efficiency that he's perfected in his years as a spook, Harry takes in everything about him at a glance, from his dark brown hair, swept back in a pony-tail, and keen, chocolate eyes, to his strong, though rather slim, athletic build. Aside from the long hair, Harry likes what he sees. The man his daughter has chosen has character. Time will tell if he's the right choice for her, but as first impressions go, it's a good one.

“Dad,” Catherine says, “this is Richard. Richard, my father, Harry.”

“Pleased to meet you, Harry,” Richard smiles and extends his hand towards him.

He's hiding his nerves well, Harry observes though he can easily tell that he's tense. Harry knows that he can be intimidating, and having only been retired a week, he doubts that he's lost any of the aura of power that he knows surrounds him. He shakes Richard's hand and is pleased to find that he has a firm grip and he meets his eye squarely. “Likewise,” he replies. “Come in. Ruth's just checking on Fiona.”

Richard helps Catherine take her coat off, much to Harry's approval, and stepping forward, Harry takes it from his hand and hangs it on the hook behind him. Richard murmurs his thanks and proceeds to remove his own coat, which he lets Harry take from him also.

“I'm sorry, Dad,” Catherine apologises. “I have to take my shoes off; my feet are killing me.”

She slips out of her shoes and leaves them under the coats as Harry frowns and murmurs, “Hang on. I'm sure we have some slippers you could borrow. Your feet will freeze.”

“I'm fine, Dad,” Catherine objects and turns towards the sitting room, pulling Richard with her.

Harry, however, is not to be deterred, and moments later, he enters the room carrying two pairs of slippers, one blue and fluffy and the other grey and practical. “Which do you prefer?” he asks.

“Dad!” she sighs in exasperation. “I don't need any, thank you.”

“Right, blue and fluffy it is then,” he winks and puts them down by her feet as she sits on the sofa.

Richard chuckles, and when Harry turns to look at him, he murmurs, “Sorry, it's just that she never listens to me when I ask her to wear footwear either. You'd be surprised how many arguments we have on the subject.”

“She's never liked to wear shoes,” Harry confides. “It was a source of constant battles when she was little. We'd force her to put the shoes on, but the moment our backs were turned, she'd take them off and run around barefoot.” Catherine watches him, a fond smile playing on her lips. Then turning to her, he asks, “I remember one time I asked you why you didn't want to wear shoes. You were probably about three or four at the time. Do you remember what you answered?”

“No,” Catherine shakes her head.

“You said that they were too heavy, clunky, pinchy and ungrippy,” he smiles.

Catherine and Richard laugh. “I get heavy,” Richard says as he turns to Catherine and rubs her knee affectionately, “but clunky, pinchy and ungrippy?”

“They got in my way,” she explains. “They pinched my toes and didn't work nearly as well as my bare feet for climbing, my favourite occupation at the time.” She turns to look at Harry and says, “I didn't know you remembered that.”

“I remember a lot of things, Catherine,” he smiles, his eyes twinkling at her in pleasure.

A soft clearing of the throat has them all turning their attention towards the door. “Hello,” Ruth smiles and steps into the room. Richard gets up straight away and turns to help Catherine to her feet also. “Oh, no. Don't get up,” Ruth objects as she comes to stand next to Harry, but they ignore her.

He turns and his eyes soften like they always do when he looks at her. “Ruth,” he says, “this is my daughter, Catherine and her partner, Richard. Catherine, Richard, my wife, Ruth.”

Ruth shakes hands with Richard first, who's standing closest to her, and she's pleased to see the sparkle in his intelligent, brown eyes. She's a firm believer that a person's eyes can tell you a lot about them, and she likes Richard already. They murmur 'pleased to meet you' to each other and smile before Ruth turns to Catherine and offers her hand in greeting. Catherine, however, steps forward and wraps her arms around Ruth in a warm embrace, taking both Ruth and Harry by surprise. “I'm so pleased to finally meet you, Ruth,” she smiles.

“Finally?” Ruth asks in an effort to distract as she's momentarily overcome by Catherine's affectionate greeting.

“Dad's mentioned you before. He was pretty cut up about it when you left a few years ago,” she admits with a quick uncertain look at her father.

Ruth smiles and glances at Harry. Catherine's admission has made him quite uncomfortable, she notes though she's sure no one else is able to tell, so she replies lightly, “We both were, but luckily we were given a second chance.”

Wisely Catherine refrains from making a joke about their 'second chance' and says instead, “Is Fiona sleeping?”

Ruth nods. “I'm afraid she is. I thought we could give her a little more time and see if she wakes up on her own, but I promise to get her before you leave even if she doesn't.”

“I'll go put the kettle on for tea,” Harry murmurs, and touching Ruth's elbow lightly as he passes her, he leaves the room. He and Catherine already caught up yesterday, and he knows that he needs to give Ruth and Catherine a chance to become acquainted. At the same time, he also knows that Richard needs to relax a little in order to open up and give him a glimpse of the man he is, which means leaving him with Ruth also. Harry knows that he can break even the toughest of men, but his interrogation techniques, he's sure, wouldn't meet with the approval of either his daughter or his wife. Subtler methods are needed, and Ruth's perfect for the job even if she doesn't know she's doing it. She probably suspects what he's up to though, he thinks with a smile as he flicks the kettle on to boil and turns towards the fridge. She's good at figuring these things out, and especially at figuring _him_ out _._

 

 

_Same day, 2nd November, 5 pm_

 

They're having a good time. She's found plenty to talk about with Catherine, particularly about her pregnancy and travels. Richard has also relaxed somewhat and has shared quite a bit about himself and his interest in photography, and he's offered to take some pictures of her and Harry with Fiona, which Ruth's delighted about. He's a good man, she's decided. Steady and caring, and deeply in love with Catherine; it's obvious from the way he looks at her.

“Are you using cloth or disposable nappies, Ruth?” Catherine asks as their conversation drifts back to babies.

“Disposable at the moment,” Ruth replies. “I did read about cloth nappies though and was thinking of trying them, but things have been rather hectic since Fiona's birth and I haven't had the energy to try something new.”

“You should definitely look into them,” Catherine says eagerly. “They make potty training much easier later and they're healthier for Fiona; no chemicals. _And_ they're much better for the environment, even if you take into account all the water that you use for washing them. Plus I've always thought it's disgusting how disposable nappies result in raw human waste going directly into landfill without being treated. With cloth nappies, the poo ends up in the sewage which is where it belongs.”

“Catherine,” Richard murmurs quietly, “I don't think that this is the best time to discuss this, do you? We _are_ eating after all.”

“Oh, right,” Catherine laughs. “Sorry.” She glances at Harry who's looking distinctly unimpressed with the turn the conversation has taken, and gaves him a sheepish grin. Then she turns to Ruth and asks, “Does he change Fiona? I bet he doesn't.”

Ruth smiles and glances at her husband. “No, he doesn't,” she admits, “but he's great when Fiona wakes up at night and won't go back to sleep. I'm sure he'd walk with her for hours in she needed it, and I confess that I don't mind the nappy changing if I can get a good night's rest.”

Harry smiles at her softly. “It rarely takes more that a few minutes,” he confesses. “She's an easy customer, unlike her big sister. I seem to recall spending hours trying to get _her_ back to sleep at night.”

Catherine laughs and replies, “I'm sure that it has nothing to do with me being difficult and everything to do with your technique, Dad. After all, you have much more experience with getting babies to sleep now, thanks to me.”

“Very true,” Harry chuckles.

“You need to tell Richard your secret, Dad,” Catherine smiles. “I'm sure I'll need a good night's sleep too once your grandchild's born.”

“It's a closely guarded secret,” he teases, “but I'm sure I could bring myself to share it with my grandchild's father when the time comes... as long as he promises to guard it well.”

“I will, Harry,” Richard smiles. “After all, I wouldn't want to outlive my usefulness, would I?”

Harry laughs, much to Richard's delight, and replies, “No. That would not be wise.”

Fiona chooses that moment to wake up and they all hear her gurgling to herself through the baby monitor. Ruth goes upstairs to get her, and after changing her, she carries her into the sitting room and comes to sit down next to Catherine.

“Hi, Fiona,” Catherine coos and takes her into her arms when Ruth offers to hand her over. “I'm Catherine, your big sister, and this is your uncle, Richard.” Fiona studies them intently with her big, blue eyes and then smiles as she makes a gurgling noise in her throat. “Oh, Dad, Ruth, she's adorable,” Catherine grins in delight as she looks up at both of them.

“I know,” Ruth replies with pride.

“She has your eyes, Ruth,” Richard comments as he presses his finger into Fiona's hand and feels her grab hold of it with her little fist.

“And Dad's hair,” Catherine teases. “Blond and not much of it.”

Ruth begins to laugh and Harry rolls his eyes and shakes his head in mock exasperation.

“What?” Catherine asks, sensing that there's something she's missed.

Ruth says nothing, but Harry eventually volunteers, “Ruth said the exact same thing just after she was born.”

“Oh,” Catherine laughs. “That's funny because I said the same thing to Graham...” she tails off at the look on Harry's face and quickly turns back to Fiona.

“Graham?” Harry asks in a deceptively calm voice. “How _is_ your brother?”

Catherine lifts her eyes to him briefly before looking back down at her sister. “I saw him yesterday actually,” she replies. “He seems fine. He's working hard, _really_ hard. He has two jobs at the moment.”

“Really,” Harry replies sceptically and is rewarded with a frown from Ruth. She's picked up on the falsely cheerful tone in Catherine's voice and knows that something's going on that Catherine doesn't want to talk about. She knows Harry's picked up on it too, and her frown is a subtle reminded to him to pull himself together so that they can figure out what's wrong. Harry takes the hint. “I'm glad to hear he's doing better,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. He _is_ glad to hear it.

“Actually, he isn't,” Catherine replies, and seeing her father's face darken, she hastily adds. “He's clean. He has been for more than two years now. But he could use some help getting a better paid job with better hours. He... um...” She turns her eyes towards Richard in a silent plea.

He nods and clears his throat. “This should really be coming from Graham,” he begins and a dark shadow crossed his face momentarily. “He shouldn't be leaving Catherine to say this.”

“Richard,” she pleads and places her hand on his arm gently.

“Fine,” he nods. “I'm just saying...”

“What's going on?” Harry asked, his face a mask of calm control though there's an edge to his voice now.

Richard turns to him and replies. “There's no easy way to say this... Graham fathered a child about a year and a half ago.” Harry stares at him and Ruth gasps. “He's a nice boy. His name is James, James Edward after two of his great-grandfathers. When Graham's girlfriend discovered she was pregnant, she turned to him for help, and to give him credit, he pulled himself together pretty quickly. He made sure that both he and Claire checked into a drug treatment program and they remained clean once they got out. He got a job and worked hard, and when the baby was born, he took to being a father like a duck to water. Unfortunately for him and Jamie, Claire didn't do so well. She lasted about eight months before she went back to drugs. Graham found out quickly and gave her an ultimatum. She moved out the next day and left him to take care of Jamie on his own. He's done remarkably well considering, but I still think he should have told you this himself.”

Harry had got up while Richard was speaking and walked over to the window. He stares out of it now, lost in a tumult of thoughts and emotions. Ruth watches him, her heart breaking for him. He's been a grandfather for more than a year without knowing it. She can well imagine the turmoil inside him. Catherine's also watching her father anxiously, leaning into Richard's side as he slips his arm around her shoulders in silent support.

Fiona begins to whimper, sensing the underlying currents of emotion in the room, and Ruth turns to Catherine and gives her a small encouraging smile before taking Fiona from her and sliding her into the sling she nearly always wares around her shoulder. Then, leaving Catherine in Richard's capable hands, she walks over to stand by Harry, slipping her hand from his right elbow down to his forearm and squeezing it lightly. He turns his head towards her slightly, and she can see the sheen of tears in his eyes. There's no wind to blame it on today, she thinks as she rests her head lightly on his shoulder. Fiona stares up at her father from her place in the sling and gurgles at him, giving him a gummy smile.

“Hi, beautiful,” he murmurs softly and turns his body towards her to give her his left, index finger. She grasps it in her little hand and after a couple of failed attempts, she brings it to her mouth where she attempts to chew on it. “You need some teeth first,” he comments with a smile. Then he reaches over and pulls his youngest daughter out of the sling and cradles her in his arms. Ruth squeezes his arm once more and he understands what she's trying to say. He needs to reassure his other daughter too. So turning around, he walks back to his seat and sits down, saying lightly, “Christmases should be fun again with all these babies around.”

“Yes,” Catherine replies from her place in Richard's arms.

“Do you think your brother would welcome my help if I looked around for some jobs for him?”

“I think he'd appreciate it,” Catherine smiles, pleased that Harry's not angry at her for keeping her brother's secret. “Yesterday I asked him if I could talk to you about him when I saw you today, and he said I could tell you what I liked. He needs help, Dad. He's working himself to death and poor Jamie doesn't see him as much as he needs.”

Harry nods slowly. “I'll see what I can do.”


	29. Chapter 29

_Same day, 2nd November, 10 pm_

 

He gets in bed, switching the bedside lamp off before lying back against the pillows. Next to him, Ruth turns on her side to face him and slides her hand up his arm.

"Are you okay?" she asks gently.

"Yes," he replies, lifting his arm towards her in invitation.

She shuffles closer to him and places her head on his shoulder, sighing happily as he wraps his arm around her and kisses the top of her head. They're silent for some time and then true to form, Harry begins to open up. This is the time of day when they talk, when they share their thoughts and feelings.

"I let him down so badly, Ruth. I feel..." he pauses unable to find the words to describe the depth of emotion he's experiencing. "He needed me, and every time, I've let him down."

"Perhaps, Harry," she replies quietly, "but you cannot blame yourself for all that he's suffered. An awful lot of what he's been through is self-inflicted. You gave what you could at the time. You're giving what you can now. That's all you can ask of yourself."

"I could have given more, Ruth," he sighs, his voice taking on an anguished tone. "I could have given much more."

"No, Harry," she argues gently. "It's always easy to say that in hindsight, but it's simply not true. You couldn't have given more at that time in your life. You can now, but you couldn't then. And besides, you can never be sure that more is what Graham needed. Catherine managed and maybe Graham just couldn't. Maybe he fell into the wrong crowd at school, or had some other bad experience. Maybe if you'd given more, he would have stayed away from drugs and alcohol, and maybe he wouldn't have. Maybe if you'd helped him with Jamie a year ago, he would have been better off, and maybe what he's suffered through in the last year is exactly what he needed to get his priorities straight. Perhaps it has given him an insight into how much you can love your child even when you don't have the time to be with him."

He nods silently and lets her reassuring words comfort him. "I'll ring Malcolm tomorrow and see if he can help me find him a well paid job," he murmurs.

"That sounds like a plan," she smiles and kisses his chest.

"I love you," he whispers as he rolls a little towards her, threading the fingers of his free hand through her hair, massaging the base of her head, and capturing her gaze with his own as she tilts her head back in pleasure. "So very much."

"I love you more," she answers with a mischievous smile, noting the sheen of tears in his eyes.

"Oh?" he smiles. "How'd you figure that out?"

"Well," she teases, "I died for you, Harry. You merely gave away a state secret."

He chuckles and murmurs, "I attacked the head of the JIC with a broken wine glass and almost went to prison for you... _twice_ , as well as throwing away my career to save your life."

She smiles softly and replies, "I carried your daughter to term inside my body and gave birth to her after eleven hours of, by no means easy, labour without the use of any pain killers."

"All right," he concedes just before he rolls on top of her. "You win." Then he kisses her with all the love and passion he feels for her, and it takes her breath away.

 

 

_Two weeks later, 18th November, 10 pm_

 

He sits in front of the telephone preparing himself for possibly the most difficult conversation he's had in years. The most important thing is to remain calm, he tells himself. Then he takes a couple of deep breaths, lifts the receiver and dials the number.

"Yes?" a male voice answers on the third ring.

"Graham?" Harry asks.

"Yes?"

"Hello. How are you? It's Dad."

There's a pause. "Hi," he says eventually in a level voice, devoid of emotion.

This is good, Harry thinks, he hasn't put the phone down yet and he's not yelling. "I saw your sister the other day," he begins. "She suggested I ring you, says that you told her it would be okay."

"Yes," he acknowledges, but makes no effort to help him out in this conversation.

"I understand that you're looking for a better job," he ventures after a pause. "Better pay, better hours."

"I am," Graham replies as a small amount of emotion creeps into his voice. Harry isn't quite sure which emotion it is, but his voice is no longer colourless.

"I have a friend," Harry continues carefully. "He knows someone who's looking for a hard working, reliable, young man to work in his business. It's a family owned enterprise in landscaping. He's looking for someone to start in the new year, so he can learn the ropes before things kick into full swing in the spring. I could e-mail you the details if you're interested."

"Thank you," Graham replies. "I'm interested."

"Okay, good. Would you give me the address then?"

"Sure. You ready?"

"Yes," Harry replies and jots down the email address, reading it back to him to double check he's got it right. "Right then," he murmurs when he's finished. "I'd better let you go. It was good to hear your voice, Graham."

"Thanks," he replies.

"I'll... I hope to see you sometime soon." He pauses, uncertain if what he has to say will be welcome. Then deciding to say it anyway, he adds, "I love you, Son. Take care."

"Bye," Graham replies, his voice a little tighter, more controlled.

"Goodbye." Harry hears the click as his son ends the call and he lowers the phone into its cradle with a sigh. He leans back in his chair, and bringing his hands up to his face, he rubs his eyes briefly before he lets his hands fall back down into his lap, his head dropping forward a little.

A light tapping on the door-frame has him raising his head and turning towards the door where he sees Ruth standing in the doorway smiling gently at him. "Hi," he whispers.

"Hello," she replies, walking into the room, round his desk, and coming to stand next to him. He spins his chair round to face her and leans forward, resting his forehead against her abdomen as she lifts her hands to stroke his hair. "It's a start, Harry," she murmurs. “It's a start.”

 


	30. Chapter 30

 

_Ten days later, 29th November, 4 pm_

 

She stands in the doorway watching him stare blankly at the wall, lost in thought. He's been like this for the past few days, distracted, his mind elsewhere. If he hadn't also been unusually effusive in his declarations of love and more passionate in his love making, she might have been worried that he's getting bored with her. As things stand, she's positive that it's something else, work related, or possibly, lack of work related. Perhaps a belated reaction to early retirement? She's been hoping that he'll tell her what's going on without her having to ask him, but this is getting ridiculous now. She needs to know.

“Harry?” she murmurs softly as she walks into the room, but he doesn't hear her. This is worse than she thought. Frowning, she sits down on the sofa next to him and touches his knee, making him jump.

“Jesus, Ruth!” he exclaims, lifting his hand to his heart and turning towards her. “You'll give me a heart attack one of these days.”

“What's going on, Harry?” she asks earnestly, ignoring his attempt at a joke. “You haven't been yourself since Monday. What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replies in a level voice. “I'm just a little tired.” He leans over to kiss her, but she turns her head away so that his lips connect with her cheek instead of her lips. She's not letting him off the hook _that_ easily.

When he's pulled back, she turns to look at him and says, “Don't do this, Harry. Don't shut me out. I know something's bothering you and I want to help. You have no right to keep me out of it. We're a team, you and I.” She watches him for a few moments waiting for him to say something, and when he doesn't, she gets up and moves towards the door, stopping in the doorway to look at him and adding, “I'm not going to wait forever, Harry.” And with that, she disappears into the kitchen to make some tea.

Harry feels fear grip his insides at her last words, and for the first time, he considers the possibility that she might leave him if he _doesn't_ tell her what's going on. Once again he's stuck between a rock and a hard place; if he tells her, she'll probably leave, if he doesn't, she still might leave him. He rubs his face with his hands in frustration. He needs to think. He gets up, and slipping on his shoes and grabbing his coat, he calls to Ruth that he's going out to buy some milk, which he knows they need, and leaves the house.

 

 

_Same day, 29th November, 5 pm_

 

He finds her in the kitchen cooking dinner with Fiona sleeping against her chest in her wrap.

“Milk,” he murmurs, “and some apples and bread.”

“Thanks,” Ruth smiles as she turns towards him, hoping that his walk has cleared his head and he's ready to talk.

“Towers wants me to come back to work for a month,” he states. There's no point in beating around the bush any longer. This is the part he would have shared with her anyway; it's the rest of the information that's going to be tricky.

“What?” she asks in surprise. “Why?”

“Apparently, there are some talks going on with Russia. A strategic partnership resulting in new trade and information exchange agreements, including intelligence sharing,” he explains with distaste. “He actually said that the aim was a new special relationship... with Russia.”

“But what has that got to do with you?” Ruth asks after a moment as she digests this information.

“The head of the Russian delegation is Minister for International Development, Ilia Gavrik, who was my KGB counterpart in Berlin during the cold war, and he's requested my presence in the meetings,” Harry explains. “Towers wants to reinstate me as Head of Section D for a few weeks until this deal is signed.”

“How on earth is he planning to accomplish that? Surely after resigning in disgrace as you put it, it will be political suicide to attempt to reinstated you even for a few weeks!”

Harry smiles, pleased with her accurate analysis of the situation. “Apparently, my replacement, Jacob Abbot, is keen to take over as Head of section A since Harold Smith is retiring, which leaves a temporary vacancy in Section D. They were planning to give the job to Erin Watts, a young and rising star in the world of espionage, but Towers insisted that she needs some experience as Section Chief before taking up the position, conveniently creating a temporary vacancy for me to fill. He also informed me that, if I take the position, he will be able to remove the stain on my record created by Albany, and I'll begin receiving my pension and other benefits legitimately through the proper channels.”

She studies him closely and realises that there must be more to this, and that he apparently isn't ready to share it with her yet. She knows Harry doesn't care about his record that much. There are plenty of stains on it already without taking Albany into account, and she's sure that getting his pension through the proper channels isn't much of an incentive either. Something else entirely is going on, and she suspects it has more to do with the Russian partnership than anything else Towers is offering. “What are you going to do?” she asks, already knowing what the answer is going to be.

“I've agreed to do it provided that it's all finished before Christmas,” he murmurs, a little uncertainty creeping into his voice as he braces himself for her reaction. He wants to make it clear that he doesn't want to go back permanently, so he's mentioned the upcoming holidays. He's enjoying retirement and living with Ruth and Fiona immensely. In fact, he really doesn't want to be doing this at all, but after the message he'd got from Max Witt today, he feels he has no choice.

She remains silent as she turns back to her cooking, washing some veggies for the salad, and it's only when they're sitting down to their meal that she turns the conversation back to his reinstatement, saying, “If you must, Harry, you must. I won't pretend that I like it, or that I think it's a good idea, but I won't stop you.”

He reaches across the table for her hand and is relieved when she doesn't pull it away. “I won't change my mind about retirement, Ruth. I don't want to go back, but at the same time, I can't refuse Towers. I owe him.”

She nods and they turn back to their food and the conversation onto neutral topics.


	31. Chapter 31

_Two days later, 1st December, 8 pm_

 

He unlocks the door and steps into the house, slipping out of his coat and hanging it on the hook behind the door. He slides a tired hand across his face and moves further into the house, placing his keys on the hall table. And that's when he feels the hair on the back of his neck rise up, followed by the familiar rush of adrenaline. The alarm, he thinks, it wasn't on; something's wrong. Fear grips his insides and all he can think about is Ruth and Fiona. He moves slowly through to the sitting room, walking up to the decanter and pouring himself a drink. He can sense the intruder behind him and he can also sense Ruth's fear.

“There are people already on their way,” he states calmly, his back still turned to the intruder. “I've triggered an alarm.”

“No, you haven't,” a voice with an unmistakeably Russian accent replies.

He turns slowly with his drink in hand and recognises one of the men who's been tailing him since the day before yesterday, sitting at the dining table. It hadn't surprised him that he'd been put under surveillance since he'd accepted his temporary reinstatement. He knows that several of his enemies are looking for any excuse to have him disposed of in a more satisfying way than they'd managed with Albany. They're just waiting in the shadows to pounce the moment he makes the slightest mistake.

His eyes travel over the stranger and then move to his left to look at Ruth, who's holding a sleeping Fiona and sitting across from the Russian, the picture of calm control. Her eyes, however, betrayed her fear, and he holds her gaze for a moment, trying to reassure her before he turns back to the Russian. “Hello again,” he murmurs. “You were in the park.”

“I didn't expect you'd recognise me,” he replies with contempt. “The last time you saw me, I was a child.”

Harry's eyes widen slightly and he takes a few steps forwards, prompting the Russian to get up and point his gun at him. “I know about my mother, Tourmaline,” he growls.

“Sasha?” Harry asks in disbelief. He looks at the gun. “That's a Stechkin. You're FSB?”

“Tell me one thing before I kill you,” Sasha demands, prompting a sharp intake of breath from Ruth. “Do you ever think about the lives you ruin?”

“I don't know what you mean,” Harry replies, taking a step towards him, determined to draw the Russian's attention away from Ruth and Fiona.

“Stop!” he exclaims, causing Harry to pause. “She's a spy for the west. Turned by you to spy on her country... and her husband, my father. Your best Russian asset since eighty one,” he says in a voice brimming with emotion.

Harry chuckles and replies lightly, “Someone's spun you quite a yarn.”

Sasha raises his eyebrows, and keeping the gun trained on Harry, he pulls a piece of paper out of his coat pocket. “I found this six weeks ago,” he states and places it on the table for Harry, adding, “She'd hidden it. A request for information from you.”

Harry steps forward, and placing his drink of the table, he picks up the paper before opening it to read the message. “Tourmaline speak through Sharecropper. Urgent update needed. Remain safe. Peregrine,” it reads.

“Your codes, your cypher, your MI-5 name,” Sasha continues as Harry reads the note. “It led me to everything else. Do you deny you wrote it?”

Harry stares at the piece of paper in his hands and glances at Ruth. “I don't think I can,” he sighs, turning his back on Sasha and pacing away from him. He stops in front of the window and says, “You could have shot me the moment I came in here, which makes me think that perhaps killing me is not your only option.”

“No,” Sasha confirms. “Just the most attractive,” he adds, moving towards him.

“And of course, you're not stupid enough to believe that I'm the only person who knows that your mother is still active,” Harry continues unperturbed as he turns to face him once more.

Sasha slowly lowers the gun, and after a few seconds, demands with emotion, “You burn her file, sever all contact, and _then_ you can live... and so can they.” He points his gun vaguely at Ruth and Fiona.

Harry narrows his eyes at the Russian and tightens the muscles in his jaw, causing his mouth to form a grim line and his chin to jut out in anger, but he remains silent.

Sasha raises the gun to Harry's face again and murmurs, “I'm part of my parent’s protection detail. I'll be watching you. You send her a message. You tell her that her work for you is complete and you say goodbye. She's given you thirty years; let her go, or I'll be seeing you again.”

Then with the gun still trained on Harry, he backs out of the room and leaves the house. When they hear the door click closed, Harry strides quickly to the window and checks that the Russian's left the house. Then he turns round and moves swiftly to Ruth's side, pulling her into his arms and holding her close.

“Did he hurt you?” he asks in a hoarse voice as he pulls back to look at her.

She shakes her head, sighing as she leans into his solid strength, still holding their sleeping daughter in her arms. Minutes pass in silence as they stand leaning into each other, grateful that they've all survived once more. Eventually, Harry leads her over to the sofa, and taking Fiona in his arms, he tells her to sit down while he puts their child in bed.

When he returns a few minutes later, Ruth's not in the living room, but sitting at the kitchen table sipping a cup of hot, sweet tea. He sits down across from her, cradling the mug of tea she's made for him in his hands and wondering where to begin. He pulls the message Sasha Gavrik gave him out of his pocket and slides it across the table towards her. Ruth glances at him and then picks it up.

“This information exceeds your security clearance, Ruth, but I owe you an explanation. Tourmaline was an asset of mine in Berlin. Her real name is Elena Gavrik, Minister Gavrik's wife,” he says eventually while looking down at his drink.

“And you're still running her?” Ruth asks in surprise after a moment. “Harry, if Gavrik finds out that his wife is still spying for us-”

Harry shakes his head and looks up at her. “I'm not running Elena. I didn't write that. Someone posing as me contacted Elena via Max Witt, a former MI-6, cold war cut-out, who incidentally is now dead.”

“But that means they know all your codes,” Ruth protests in alarm. “That's all your MI-5 communication protocols. That's a breach at the highest level.”

He nods and adds, “And it means that Elena has probably passed on important intel to this impostor. I need to talk to her to find out what.”

“That's too risky. If she's exposed, the partnership falls through,” she murmurs.

“What other choice do I have?” he sighs.

She studies him for a moment and then nods her agreement. “What about Sasha Gavrik?” she asks. He looks away for a moment, but not before she glimpses the pained look in his eyes. An ominous feeling takes hold of her, and she feels her heart rate speed up and the blood drain from her face, but she forces herself to go on, to face this. “We need to put him out of action.” He nods silently, still refusing to look at her, so she murmurs softly, “What aren't you telling me, Harry?”

He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a long, shaky stream of air. Then he whispers, “Elena wasn't just an asset. We were lovers.”

“And Sasha?” she presses when he falls silent.

“He's my son,” he whispers so quietly that she has to strain to hear him.

Tears spring to her eyes and she has to fight hard to stop them from falling. Minutes pass as they both avoid each other's gaze, Harry convinced that she'll never forgive him, and Ruth wondering if she'll ever really know this man that she loves so much. How many more secrets like this does he have? And what else isn't he telling her? Had it been just a honey trap, or had it been more? Had he loved her? Is this the reason behind his recent distracted air? The return of his lover rather than his reluctance to return to MI-5? Does this mean that he still harbours feelings for this woman? So many questions which he'll probably not answer, she thinks and feels a stab of pain in her heart.

Eventually Ruth says more calmly than she feels, “You burnt her because of your relationship.”

He nods and murmurs, “It sounds simple when you put it like that.”

“Nothing,” she exclaims, her anger and hurt briefly coming through in her voice, “about this is simple, Harry...” She's silent for long moments, but eventually, she sighs and adds quietly, “but we can unpick it... together.”

He raises his eyes to her face for the first time then, and she sees the hope shining in their depths and knows that it's going to be all right. Somehow or other they're going to get through this too, just like they've survived three years apart, George and Nico, and countless other things. He has secrets; she's known that about him since she'd met him, has known it for years, and it still hasn't stopped her from loving him. After all, they've only really been together less than six months. It's such a small amount of time compared to the years Harry has spent hiding his thoughts, his emotions, his secrets from everyone around him. He's making progress; he's sharing more of himself. Perhaps with time he'll trust her with his past as well as his present and his future. Perhaps this thing with the Gavriks will show him that he can trust her with anything.

They're Ruth and Harry; they're meant to be together. Whatever he felt for this woman in the past, he no longer loves her. She's certain of that now, and she forgives him for the rest in that instant, wondering briefly if there's anything he can have done that she won't be able to forgive. She hopes not; she fervently hopes not because she doesn't want to lose him, not now, not after everything. “Why didn't you tell me, Harry?” she asks gently.

“I almost did once,” he sighs, “but I was a coward. I was scared that you'd leave me if you knew... Ruth, there are so many things I've done that I'm not proud of, that I would despise anyone else for doing. I lost all respect for myself a long time ago, and I couldn't bear it if I lost yours too, if I lost your love.”

“Harry,” she replies after a moment's contemplation, “I know that the man you are now, today, is very different from the one you were in your youth, and the fact that you feel remorse for what you did makes you fundamentally a good man. That's the man I love... and so long as you don't do anything completely out of character, you won't lose my love or my respect. What you do now, that's what matters.”

He nods and reaches for her hand across the table, linking their fingers together. “I won't let him hurt you or Fiona,” he says fiercely. “You're right. As much as it pains me to say it, we have to get him out of the way; some kind of non-fatal injury perhaps.”

She nods and they're silent for some time. Eventually Ruth asks, “I have to ask, Harry, do you have any more-”

“No,” he replies firmly and then adds after a short pause, “At least, none that I've been informed about.”

“Oh, Harry,” she sighs and shakes her head in exasperation.

“Well, a man can never truly know how many children he has, Ruth,” he replies a little defensively. “That's not how the biology of it works, and it's not as if I wasn't careful... most of the time, anyway.”

There's nothing she can say to that, so instead she asks, “How come you never extracted Elena Gavrik?”

He frowns and murmurs, “Plans were made for her defection, but nothing every came of it.”

“Why?” she asks, sensing that there's something he's holding back.

He sighs and replies, “I was overruled and the extraction cancelled. I never turned up at the meeting point.”

“So now you feel guilty,” she says after watching him carefully for a few moments.

He nods and looks away, replying quietly, “I let them down. I should have been there for them, especially the boy, Sasha. I should have done it anyway.”

Ruth watches him anxiously as she sees the torment in his eyes, and she knows that this is not good. Harry's emotionally compromised, something she's seen only a few times: when Catherine had been mixed up in their investigation into the November Committee, when she'd been accused of Maudsley's murder, and of course, Albany. An emotionally compromised Harry takes big risks and sometimes does really stupid things, and consequently, she's worried... very worried indeed.


	32. Chapter 32

 

_Next day, 2nd December, 2 pm_

 

Ruth opens the door to the small café, stepping in from the cold and quickly scanning her surroundings. There are only three tables in the shop and all three are occupied, but only one of them has a single, young man sitting at it, holding a cup of coffee in his hand. Their eyes meet and she's immediately struck by their colour, a warm hazel, lighter than Harry's, but still so very familiar. She smiles and is pleased to see him return her smile with one of his own. She moves over to his table and he gets up, extending his hand and murmuring in a voice that's also achingly familiar, “Hello. You must be Ruth. Graham Townsend, pleased to meet you.”

She shakes his hand and replies, “As am I, Graham. It's a real pleasure.”

He helps her remove her coat, placing it on the back of her chair and pulling it out for her before pushing her in as she takes a seat. She thanks him before he asks, “What can I get you?”

She thinks about saying that he doesn't need to pay for her drink, but decides against it, not wishing to risk offending him. “Actually some hot water would be just perfect. I have my own tea bag, you see, but if they make a fuss, just ask for tea with the tea bag on the side.”

He nods and walks up to the counter to place her order. She watches him, surprised that he's so slim; it seems that neither of Harry's children have inherited his strong, broad build. His hair's a mass of light brown, short curls, darker and thicker than his father's, and he's about the same height as Harry. He doesn't look much like his dad, far less so than Catherine. It's just his eyes and forehead that bare such a strong resemblance to his father's, but as she thinks that Harry's eyes are by far his best feature, she reckons that Graham's lucky.

It doesn't take Graham long to get a cup of hot water for her, and soon he's sitting down across from her, sipping his coffee as he studies her openly.

“Not what you expected, am I?” she asks with a smile.

He shakes his head. “No,” he admits. “I thought you'd be more... glamorous. Cat did mention that you weren't his usual type.” He winces and adds quickly, “Sorry. That was thoughtless of me.”

“It's okay, Graham,” she reassures him. “I think I'd be worried if you classed me as Harry's usual type. He'd be bored of me already.”

He laughs and murmurs, “I like you, Ruth. I didn't think I would, but Cat convinced me to give you a chance, and she was right. Perhaps my father has finally had some sense knocked into him somehow. Maybe it's all those blows to the head he must have received over the years.”

She smiles and answers, “Could be.”

“Is... my sister in that wrap?” he asks after a moment, indicating the Moby wrap she's wearing.

Ruth nods. “Would you like to meet her?” she asks tentatively.

“Sure,” he replies, his voice taking on an indifferent tone.

Ruth pulls back the top of the wrap to reveal Fiona's sleeping face as she murmurs, “She's sleeping at the moment.”

Graham leans closer, unable to stop himself in spite of his intention to maintain some emotional distance from his new, baby sister. “She's beautiful,” he whispers as he looks at her, a soft smile curling the corners of his mouth up.

“Thank you,” Ruth replies, glancing from her step-son to her daughter and back. Then she adds, “Actually, she's part of the reason I wanted to talk to you today.”

Graham leans back in his seat and takes another sip of his coffee before saying, “I thought you wanted to talk to me about something to do with my father.”

“It's about him too,” she nods. “You see, I'm sure Catherine's told you that he retired, but unfortunately, he's had to go back to work for a few weeks to fill in for someone.” She pauses, unsure of quite how to phrase this. “You know that he and I worked together, yes?” Graham nods. “I was his senior analyst, and well, things are... challenging at work right now. I'm convinced that he needs my help, and even though he would never ask me to go back-”

“Wait, a second,” Graham interrupts. “He doesn't know about this?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I wanted to arrange everything before I tell him tonight. I need someone reliable to watch Fiona while I'm at work, and I thought of you.” Graham just stares at her, a mixture of surprise, incredulity, and pleasure appearing on his face. “You see, I know that you've got two jobs and work lousy hours for lousy pay. I'd be prepared to pay you a decent wage, though I can't promise the hours will be much better, but you could bring Jamie with you to our house and spend your day with him and Fiona. She's an easy baby, eats well even from a bottle and sleeps well too. I know that you're starting your new job in the new year, so I thought you might be prepared to leave your current employment a little earlier than you'd planned. What do you think?”

Graham frowns as he considers her proposal, weighing up the advantage of being with Jamie all day, versus the disadvantage of working for his father and looking after his new sister, something that's going to be exceedingly difficult for him emotionally. “Why me?” he asks eventually.

“I told you why,” Ruth replies. “You're reliable and I know you've been a single father for a year already, so you know what to do to take care of her. I would prefer if it was you rather than a stranger that I find through an agency. You're family and family's important. I trust you, Graham.”

“But you hardly know me,” he murmurs.

“I know you better than you think,” she answers. “I know your sister thinks the world of you and is very proud of how you've turned your life around. Richard also thinks highly of you, as does your father. By all accounts, you're a great father to Jamie and have worked hard to make a better life for the two of you. That tells me that, if you set your mind on something, you accomplish it, so if you decide to take care of Fiona, I trust that you will do your best and will not let any harm come to her.” She doesn't mention all the background checks she's completed on him, something she would have done for anyone she'd consider hiring as a babysitter. All the people she's talked to have had good things to say about him, saying he's hard working and dependable. She'd even managed to get hold on one of his teachers from school, who was very happy to hear that Graham has kicked his drinking and drug habit and is doing well. She told Ruth what a kind hearted, gentle boy he'd been, always helping out his school mates and sticking up for them against those who would try to bully them.

“What about Dad?” he says doubtfully. “Would he trust me?”

“I think he would,” she nods, noting that this is the first time during their conversation that Graham had called his father Dad. “He thinks very highly of you, Graham. He loves you, and as you pointed out at the beginning of our meeting, he's had some sense knocked into him over the years one way or another. He's a different man to the one you remember; a better man.” Graham's silent for several moments, thinking. Eventually, Ruth adds, “I don't want to pressure you, Graham. Just think about it and ring me tonight with your answer. I would really like to start work tomorrow, so I need an answer as soon as possible. If you want to give it a trial run for a few days that would be fine too. I'll just need time to find someone else if you change your mind.”

“It's all right,” Graham replies, coming to a sudden decision. “I'll do it... as long as Dad doesn't object.”

“Great,” Ruth smiles. “I'm sure he won't, but if he does, I'll ring you tonight. Otherwise, will you come round in the morning? Is half past seven too early?”

“No,” Graham laughs, “Jamie and I would consider half seven a lie in. We're usually out of the house by six at the latest.”

“If you're awake anyway,” she replies, “come round earlier. Then we'll have time for Fiona to get used to you and for Jamie to feel at home.”

He nods. “We'll be there at seven then.” Then he gets up, murmuring, “I'm sorry, I'm going to have to get back to work. It was a pleasure to meet you, Ruth, and I look forward to seeing you again tomorrow.”

Ruth gets up too and replies, “Me too, Graham, and thank you for agreeing to this. I'm truly very grateful.”

Graham nods and leaves the café, waving to her through the window as he passes. He really is as sweet as his dad, she thinks with a smile and wonders briefly what kind of a person Harry would have been had he chosen a different career path. A protector certainly, she concludes with a smile; she has no doubt about that. And perhaps a little more open and trusting, she thinks, but not all that different to who he is now. He would still have hidden away his emotions and shared little of his thoughts, and he would have had the same loyal heart and the same devotion to those he loves and cares about, but he'd have laughed more too and been able to sleep better at night. Again she marvels at how much of himself he's given to the Service, so much more than she ever could. She feels a deep love and admiration for him in that moment, and at the same time, her heart aches for him, for all he's lost in the process of protecting everyone else. She shakes herself mentally and turns her thoughts from Harry to his son.

She wonders if she's done the right thing in asking Graham to look after Fiona. It feels right somehow, seems like the logical choice given his employment problems and the timing seems to fit perfectly with everyone's needs. She needs someone right away and doesn't really have time to be looking for a nanny right now, especially one that would be willing to sign the official secrets act; a necessary step for anyone taking care of Fiona right now, especially after Sasha's visit yesterday. She worries a little about bringing Graham and Jamie into her and Harry's dangerous lives, but she anticipates another visit from Sasha Gavrik to be highly unlikely. And anyway, she's determined that they'll be done with the Gavriks well before Christmas. She'll make sure of it, and then they'll be free to leave the Service together. They'll move out of London, she's decided. Somewhere along the coast and have a long and happy life. “Believe it, visualise it, and work hard for it,” her father's words drift through her mind before she turns her thoughts back to Graham.

The fact that Graham had jumped at the chance to be with his son all day, indicates that she's right about him; he really is very soft hearted and loves his boy very deeply. Even the awkward circumstances of working for his estranged father and looking after his half-sister hadn't stopped him from accepting. Fiona will be safe with him, she's sure. He'd wanted to keep an emotional distance from her, she could tell, and yet the way he'd looked at her just now had been tender as if he couldn't help himself. It's a shame really that he's got a criminal record, she thinks; he would have made a great nursery school teacher. Like father, like son. She sighs as she considers the difficult lives they've both created for themselves for entirely different reasons and in entirely different ways. Then she turns her mind to the problem of how to convince Harry that her plan to return to work is a good one.

 

 


	33. Chapter 33

 

_Same day, 2nd December, 9 pm_

 

“I've been thinking, Harry,” Ruth says as they sit across from each other eating their dinner. “I want to come back to work, end my maternity leave.”

Harry looks up at her in surprise. “What?” he asks. “Why?”

“This thing with the Gavriks,” she replies carefully. “It's very complex and delicate, and I think I'd be useful to the team right now.”

He studies her quietly, realising immediately that what she _really_ means is that she's worried about _him_ and want to help _him_ work through the Gavrik problem. He's touched by the sentiment and realises once more how very much he really doesn't deserve her. “But what about Fiona?” he asks.

“I've already arranged for someone to look after her,” she answers.

He nods and remains silent for a moment, contemplating her proposal. He really would benefit from Ruth's help on this. It had already occurred to him how useful she would be in dealing with the Gavriks, and he's found himself wishing that he could ask her to come back. He desperately needs someone he can trust, and she's the only person he _will_ trust, the only person he's sure is on his side and will never betray him. “I can't ask you to do that,” he murmurs eventually.

“You didn't,” she smiles. “I offered.”

He nods and gives in, realising that she's already made up her mind and nothing he says will change it. She _is_ , after all, his stubborn mule, he thinks fondly, and he does really need her help. “All right,” he agrees. “I'll have you start on Monday.”

“No, Harry. I'm starting tomorrow.”

“Ruth, that's too soon. What about Fiona?”

“I've already got a lot of milk in the freezer for her, and I'll be taking my pump to work with me,” she reassures him. “She'll be fine. She'll have her brother to take care of her and her nephew to play with. She'll love it, and besides, you need me at work before the talks begin on Monday.”

“You're right,” he nods and then looks up in surprise as the rest of her words register. “Wait a minute, her brother and nephew?!” he exclaims.

“Graham's agreed to watch her for us during the day. He'll be bringing Jamie with him and will spend the day and night, if necessary, here with the two of them.”

“Graham?” Harry asks incredulously. “He agreed to come to our house and babysit for us?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” Ruth smiles. “As long as you don't object.”

“Object? Why would I object?” he asks in bewilderment. “You obviously believe he can handle Fiona, and he's certainly a better father than I ever was, and besides, it would be an opportunity for me to see him and speak to him daily.”

“That's what I thought you'd say,” she says. “They're coming tomorrow morning at seven. Oh, and I got a present for you to give to Jamie. It's a shape sorting cube.”

“Thank you, Ruth. Is there anything you don't think of?” he replies in amazement and gives her a grateful smile.

“Well, I couldn't not buy something for your first grandchild now, could I?”

“You'd be surprised how many people wouldn't think of it,” he replies sadly, “including myself.”

“You would have thought of it if you'd known he was coming and your head wasn't full of secret talks with Russians,” she reassures him, deliberately not mentioning the Gavriks.

“Speaking of secret talks with Russians,” Harry says after a short pause, “the Home Secretary's informed me that I have to attend a do for the Russian delegation tomorrow night and I have a plus one. Would you like to accompany me?”

“You know I'd love to, Harry,” she smiles.

 

 

_Next morning, 3rd December, 7 am_

 

“Good morning, Graham,” Ruth smiles as she opens the door.

“Good morning, Ruth,” he replies and steps into the warm house as she moves aside to let him enter. He's holding Jamie in his arms and the little boy's clinging to him, resting his head on his shoulder and burying his face in his neck.

“Come through to the sitting room,” Ruth smiles and takes the bag with Jamie's things from him before leading the way into the room. “I'll just go and get Fiona,” she murmurs quietly, “and give you a change to settle in. There are some toys in the toy box.”

“Thank you, Ruth,” Graham replies and watches her put the bag down in the corner and leave the room before turning to his son and coaxing him to look around. He's a shy, little boy, quiet and thoughtful, and it takes him several minutes to get accustomed to his new surroundings with the encouragement of his father, and to feel comfortable enough to take his coat, hat and shoes off and begin to play with the toys.

Harry approaches the doorway to the room quietly and peers in, keen to get a glimpse of his son and grandson before they become aware of his presence. They're sitting on the floor, playing with the toys Ruth had picked up yesterday in preparation for their visit. Graham looks good, he sees with relief. He's filled out and he looks stronger and more confident than the last time he'd seen him. With a pang, he realises that it's been almost six years since he'd been called to the police station to bail him out of jail as both Catherine and Jane had been out of town at the time. He'd wanted to reach out to his son so much, but he hadn't known where to even begin. Everything he'd said had been taken the wrong way, and they'd parted angry and upset.

He hopes that this time things will be different. They have to be, he thinks fiercely, because there's much more to lose now than just his son. He has a grandson too, he reasons as he turns his eyes towards him and there's no way he's going to miss out on that.

Jamie's adorable with his chubby cheeks, sparkling brown eyes, and blond curls. He toddles from the box over to Graham, who's sitting on the floor by the sofa, bringing toy after toy and handing each one to his father with a delighted smile. Graham's naming each toy and Jamie's trying to repeat the sounds back to his dad before moving back over to the box for the next toy. Harry watches as Jamie makes the trip over to Graham many times until eventually the box is empty.

“Aw gon,” Jamie protests as he turns to look at his father, his bright eyes wide.

“Are they all gone?” Graham smiles. “Let's put them back then.”

Jamie grins and toddles over to him, taking the train that Graham hands to him in his little hands and saying, “Ein.”

“Yes, train,” Graham smiles and watches as Jamie carries it over to the box and places it carefully inside.

Then he turns back for the next item, saying, “Baw.”

“Yes, ball,” Graham replies.

Jamie turns to carry it to the box, but he drops it on his foot, and it rolls away towards the open doorway. Jamie begins to move towards it, but after taking a few steps, he spies Harry standing beyond the doorway and he pauses, frowning uncertainly. Slowly Harry crouches down to Jamie's eye level and smiles. “Hello, Jamie,” he murmurs.

“Dada,” Jamie calls uncertainly, glancing round at his father, but he doesn't move away.

“I'm right here, Jamie,” Graham replies as he gets up and moves to his son before crouching down beside him. “It's okay. This is your Grandpa.”

“Ganpa?” Jamie asks.

“Yes, Grandpa,” Graham smiles. “Daddy's daddy.”

Harry produces the present Ruth had got for Jamie from behind his back and holds it out to him. “This is for you, Jamie,” he says.

Jamie hesitates and looks at his father.

“It's okay. It's for you, Jamie,” Graham reassures him. “Go get it.”

Jamie takes a few steps forward until he reaches Harry. Then he takes the present from his hand and turns to go back to his father, carrying it carefully and saying, “Hewy, Dada.”

“Is it heavy, Jamie?” Graham smiles. “What's in it? Shall we open it?” Jamie nods and begins to sit down. “Come over here first,” Graham says and returns to the sofa, sitting down on it and helping Jamie to sit next to him with the gift between his legs. Jamie begins ripping the paper, concentrating hard on opening the gift as Graham and Harry watch him.

“Have a seat, Dad,” Graham murmurs, looking up at him briefly before turning back to watching his son.

Harry nods and straightens his legs with some difficulty as they've already started going to sleep. He really needs to get in better shape, he decides as he makes his way over to the sofa and sits down next to Jamie, who doesn't seem to mind at all. In fact, he turns to his grandfather once the wrapping paper has been removed and says, “Open, Ganpa.”

Harry smiles and replies, “Yes, Jamie. Let's open it,” before reaching over, opening the lid of the box, and pulling the shape sorting cube out.

“Look, Dada,” Jamie says and lifts the cube to show his father.

“It's a shape sorting cube,” Graham smiles. “That looks like fun. Let's get the pieces out.” Then he helps Jamie remove the pieces and close the cube before picking up the first piece. “Watch,” he says and shows Jamie how to push it through the correctly shaped hole. “You try,” he adds and hands him another piece.

Jamie frowns in concentration as he tries to push the piece through the same hole that Graham used, but of course, it doesn't fit. He studies the piece, moving it around in his chubby, little hands and tries it again, looking up at his father uncertainly when it doesn't work.

“Try another hole,” Graham advises.

So Jamie does, trying three holes before it slides easily in. “Es!” he exclaims triumphantly, making Harry chuckle. Soon Jamie's completely engrossed in his new toy and requires no further input from the adults at all.

“Thanks, Dad,” Graham murmurs as he looks up at his father. “He loves it.”

“It's my pleasure,” Harry replies and then adds, “though I can't take credit for the idea. It was Ruth's doing.”

Graham nods. “That figures. You never did do very well with gifts.”

“No,” Harry sighs. “Except for that elephant... What was his name? Throw? Launch?”

“Fling,” Graham replies quietly.

“That's it, Fling. He was my one success. I remember I found it at the airport in Frankfurt, I think. I'd been looking for something to bring home for you and your sister, and when I saw the elephant, I remembered how much you'd liked the elephants at the zoo, so I got it for you. I never dreamt it would be such a success.”

Graham nods and they both fall silent as they watch Jamie empty the box and begin putting the pieces in again.

“Thank you for coming, Graham,” Harry murmurs after a bit, “and for taking care of Fiona for us. It means a lot.” Graham nods and Harry continues, finding it easier somehow to talk to his son as they both watch Jamie play. “I've made many mistakes in my life, Graham, but there are none that I regret more than my failings as a father. I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you and your sister... truly, very sorry.”

Graham's silent for some time as he works through the emotions that his father's words evoke in him. When he's ready, he replies in a calm, steady voice, “I appreciate you saying that, Dad, but I'm not quite ready to put everything behind us just yet. I'm here because of Jamie, and for his sake, I'm willing to try to work things out between us, but please, don't push me too far, too soon.”

Harry nods, surprised by both the calmness of his son's voice and the forthrightness of his words. “Of course,” he murmurs. “I just wanted you to know that you and Jamie will always be loved and welcome in my home.” He turns to his grandson and kisses the top of his head before getting up from the sofa and making his way to the door. When he reached it, he almost bumps into Ruth as she suddenly rounds the door frame with Fiona in her arms. His hands shoot out to steady her as she momentarily loses her balance, coming to rest on her upper arms.

“Oops!” she exclaims. “Sorry.”

Harry smiles and runs his hands down her arms murmuring quietly so that only she can hear, “You never have to apologise for bumping into me, Ruth, whether accidentally or on purpose.”

Graham watches his father as he caresses Ruth's arms and murmurs something to her quietly, making her laugh. In that moment, he looks happy and relaxed, almost like a different person to the man he's known all his life. He feels a stab of pain and jealousy at the realization that he and Catherine had never known this side of him, had never made him this happy. But as he continues to watch, Harry turns to Fiona and kisses her hair tenderly, his expression changing to one of pure adoration. He recognises that look in his father's eyes; he's seen it directed at himself and his sister when they were small, and if he's honest, even later when they'd grown up a little and started to push him away. It's the same look he'd seen in his eyes only moments ago as he looked at Jamie, and he realises that perhaps he's been wrong in thinking that his father doesn't care, that he doesn't love him, that he's unlovable and somehow to blame for his father's unhappiness. After all, Jamie makes him very happy, but he wouldn't call himself a satisfied, contented man. He's still missing the satisfaction that comes from having an enjoyable and worthwhile job, and the happiness and fulfilment that comes from being in a loving relationship with another adult, something that Jamie can never give him. He knows that his parents never found that with each other, but this is the first time he's seen what a difference it can make, and a small part of him envies Fiona her luck in having parents who're so much in love with each other.

“Graham?” Ruth's voice interrupts his reverie.

“Mmm? Sorry,” he murmurs and blinks. “I was miles away.”

Ruth smiles and sits down next to Jamie, who looks up at her and says, “Ganpa?”

“Grandpa has to go to work, Jamie,” she smiles at him, “but he'll be back later. I'm Ruth.”

“Ooff?” Jamie asks.

“Yes, Ruth,” she smiles and lowers Fiona into her lap. “This is Fiona.”

“Ona?” Jamie asks again.

“Yes, Fiona.”

Fiona gurgles and smiles as she looks at Jamie before squealing in delight and making Jamie laugh.

“Well, they're going to get on well, aren't they?” Ruth smiles. “He's adorable, Graham. You must be so proud of him.”

Graham nods, and indicating Fiona, he asks, “May I?”

“Of course,” Ruth replies and hands Fiona over to him.

“Hello, Fiona,” Graham smiles. “I'm Graham... your big brother.” Fiona studies him intently for several moments, frowning in concentration. “There's no need to look so suspicious,” Graham continues. “We're going to have a good time together while Mum and Dad go to work.”

“I think it's your voice,” Ruth explains. “It's remarkably like your father's, and I think it's got her a little confused.”

Graham glances up at her in surprise and then looks back at Fiona. “Do I sound like Dad?” he asks her. “Is that what's confusing you? I don't speak like him though. He speaks like this.” Then he proceeds to imitate Harry's turn of phrase and tone of voice to perfection, causing Ruth to burst out laughing. Fiona looks even more confused, making Ruth laugh even harder while Jamie giggles and claps his hands in delight, refusing to be left out.

Curious to see what has caused all the commotion, Harry comes to the door of the room and peers in, causing Graham to immediately stop as he doesn't feel comfortable enough around him yet to continue in his presence. Realising that Harry's in the doorway from the look on Graham's face, Ruth wipes the tears from her cheeks with her hands before turning towards him and tactfully steering the subject away from Graham's cheeky and yet brilliant performance by asking, “Is it time to go?”

“Yes,” he nods, looking rather serious, “though you should probably show Graham where everything is before we leave.” He's a little annoyed with Graham's mimicry, which he'd caught the tail end of, but he knows better than to say anything. His pride's a little bruised, but it isn't the first, nor he suspects, the last time it'll happen in his lifetime.

“Good idea,” she smiles and gets up, placing a quick kiss on his cheek as she stops next to him.

“I'll take Fiona while you take Graham upstairs,” Harry murmurs, his gaze softening as he looks at her. “It'll be quicker that way.”

“Okay,” Graham agrees and hands her over, not quiet daring to meet his father's eye. Then he turns to Jamie and says, “Jamie, Daddy's going to go upstairs for a moment with Ruth. Will you stay with Grandpa and Fiona?”

“Es,” Jamie replies. “Ona.”

“Okay,” Graham smiles and kisses his hair. “See you in a bit. Show Fiona your new shape sorting cube.”

So Ruth and Graham disappear upstairs while Harry remains downstairs entertaining the two children. He wonders briefly if anyone on the Grid would believe that he's not only willing, but also capable of taking care of a toddler and a baby like this. Somehow, he doubts it. He's carefully built up his reputation as a ruthless, cold hearted bastard over the years, and he's not about to ruin it now. Anyway he thinks gloomily, he probably wouldn't be able to take care of Fiona and Jamie on his own. A few minutes is one thing, but day after day of meeting their needs he's sure he would fail at spectacularly. “I'm very proud of your daddy, Jamie,” he says to his grandson. “He's turned out to be quite an amazing man. Don't you ever forget that.”

Ruth shows Graham where everything's kept, including the extra things she'd bought yesterday for Jamie, such as a potty, a travel cot, and some cups, bowls and spoons. Graham's amazed at her organization and that she's thought of everything and is beginning to see exactly why his father's so in love with this woman. It's more of a mystery what she sees in him, however, he knows that, if she looked at him as she looks at his father, he's sure that he'd be half in love with her already.

When they return downstairs, they find Harry reading a book to Jamie and Fiona, each one of them nestled into one of his sides, listening with rapt attention. Graham's surprised at how at home he looks like this and how happy. Perhaps things will work out better than they have in the past, he thinks as he steps forward to take over the care of his son and sister. Ruth and Harry kiss each of the children in turn, and after bidding them all goodbye, they leave the house for work.

 


	34. Chapter 34

_Same day, 3rd December, 8 am_

 

They walk into the building together, and Ruth's surprised that it feels so natural; part of her had expected to feel self-conscious and awkward like she used to. She glances at Harry who gives her a big grin as he murmurs, “It's wonderful to have you back, Ruth.”

“You can _have_ me whenever you wish, Harry,” she teases in a whisper, making him laugh.

The security guards stare at them, and Ruth feels a little self-conscious, thinking that perhaps they've overheard her remark, but then she realises that they're probably staring at them because they've never heard Harry laugh before or seen him look happy.

“Good morning, Charlie,” she smiles, spying one of the security guards she knows.

“Ms Evershed,” he says in surprise. “It's good to see you. How's the little one?”

“Wonderful, thank you,” Ruth replies. “Wakes me up all hours of the night, but she's worth every bit of it.”

“Just you wait till you have to wait up all hours of the night for her to get home,” Charlie chuckles.

“Oh, dear,” Ruth grimaces. “Don't tell me things like that. How are your two lads?”

“Very well, Miss,” he smiles. “Thanks for asking.”

Ruth notices Harry waiting for her by the lift, so she nods towards him and murmurs, “I'd better catch up with the boss. Don't want to keep him waiting on my first day back, do I?”

“No, Miss,” Charlie chuckles and watches her go with a smile.

“Took you long enough,” Harry grumbles as she approaches and stands next to him.

Ruth just smiles and whispers back, “Now _that's_ the Harry Pearce I remember.”

By the time they've reached the pods, Harry's persona has changed completely to that of boss spook, Head of Section D, and Ruth has reverted to her role of dependable Ruth ready to analyse the hell out of anything. They step out of the pods and are immediately greeted by Tariq, who looks up from his computer and literally runs over to them, beaming at Ruth.

“Ruth!” Tariq exclaims happily and gives her a hug. “I've missed you.”

“Hello, Tariq,” she smiles. “I've missed you too. How've you been?”

“Good. You know, working,” he replies.

“Γειά σου, Ruth,” Dimitri grins as he too steps forward to greet her.

“Γειά σου, Δημητράκι,” she smiles and gives him a hug. “I do believe you've grown,” she teases.

He laughs and replies, “Or perhaps you forgot to slip on your heels this morning.”

“Not likely,” she whispers conspiratorially. “Harry becomes insufferable when he's more than a few inches taller than me.”

Dimitri and Tariq laugh, but sober immediately and turn to go back to their stations when they see the look Harry gives them.

Harry frowns at her and murmurs, “Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. I think I preferred it when you insisted on keeping our relationship a secret.”

She studies him for a moment and then says, “Then I shall have to work hard to change your mind.”

He's about to reply when his Section Chief walks up to them saying, “You must be Ruth. I'm Erin Watts.”

“Pleased to meet you, Erin,” she smiles and shakes her hand. Ruth likes her immediately. She seems very sure of herself and is polite and professional.

Harry murmurs something about getting to work and turns to his office, leaving the two women together. “Perhaps you could show me my work station,” Ruth suggests as she looks around the Grid.

“Of course,” Erin smiles and leads the way. “Are you still nursing your daughter?” she asks as they walk towards it.

“Yes,” Ruth answers, surprised by the question.

“So you intend to pump while you're at work?”

“Um... yes,” she answers cautiously.

“I'll get Harry's permission to set up a computer in one of the interview rooms so that you can use it when you need to pump. I'll also send out someone to buy a small fridge for you to store your milk until you can take it home in the evening. Hopefully by tomorrow, I might even be able to find a comfortable chair for you to sit in,” Erin says briskly.

“Thank you, Erin,” Ruth smiles as they stop by her new desk. “That's very thoughtful of you.”

“I had to fight hard to get a space where I could pump in comfort when Rosie was a baby,” she replies. “I know how uncomfortable it is to try to do it in the bathroom. You're part of this team and it's my job to make sure you have everything you need to function to the best of your abilities.”

“Thanks,” Ruth says again and watches as Erin turns around and strides towards Harry's office. Erin has just gone up a lot in her esteem.

Turning her eyes back to her work station, she's pleased to note that, though some desks have been moved a little, her station's still located in almost the same spot as it used to be with a good view through the glass window of Harry's office. She takes a seat, adjusting her chair and turning on her computer before logging in and raising her eyes to look at Harry through the glass wall of his office. He's watching her and gives her a big grin which she returns before getting back to work.

Harry's mixed feelings of a moment ago disappear the instant she looks up at him through the glass wall of his office, and he can't help grinning like a fool. Ruth's back on the Grid and he can already feel the difference. Everything seems easier all of a sudden; everything's as it should be.

 

 

_Same day, 3rd December, 11 pm_

 

Harry opens the door and ushers Ruth into the house before he closes and locks it behind them. After removing their coats and shoes, they makes their way into the sitting room where they find Graham sitting in an arm chair reading.

“Hello,” he greets them. “Did you have a good time?”

They'd been home earlier in the evening to change for the reception before heading out again. Ruth had been a little disappointed when their evening out had turned into an op, but she'd got over it quickly, enjoying the adrenaline rush along with the rest of them, though not the interaction with the Gavriks.

“It was fine, thank you,” Ruth smiles. “Thanks for staying the extra time.”

Graham nods and smiles wryly as he gets up and says, “It's fine. I'll be charging you overtime for every hour past six, you know.”

Ruth laughs and replies, “As long as it's going towards taking care of you and Jamie, I'll consider it money well spent.”

Graham beams at her and Harry finds himself feeling irrationally jealous of her for a moment before he realises that, if Graham likes Ruth, then he'll be happy to spend time here, and with time, might even come to enjoy his company also. “Are they both sleeping?” he asks.

“Yes,” Graham replies.

Harry nods and says, “Would you like to stay the night? You could have the guest room and it'll save you getting Jamie up and driving across town.”

Graham hesitates for a moment but then replies, “Thank you, but I think I'd better head home tonight. I didn't bring anything with me, and I'm used to moving Jamie into the car while he sleeps. He doesn't wake up.”

“As you wish,” Harry nods. “You're always welcome to use the guest room if you need it. You could leave a change of clothes here if you like, so that next time it's an option.”

“Thanks, Dad,” he replies with a smile. “I'd better get Jamie and head home,” he adds and turns towards the stairs.

Ruth follows him up to check on Fiona, leaving Harry to pour himself a drink. He really needs it and feels that he's earned it after tonight. Seeing the Gavriks today has brought back so many memories and feelings of guilt, hurt, anger, and mistrust, that his mind's reeling. If he hadn't had Ruth by his side to act as his anchor, he suspects he'd be lost at sea already. When this is over, he decides, he's going to take her and Fiona away on a tour of Europe - their Grand Tour. Fiona's young enough to go with them without complicating things too much. It'll be their Christmas come honeymoon come retirement gift.

A noise behind him has him turning towards the door again where he spies Graham struggling along the hall with a sleeping Jamie and his bag. Putting his glass down on the table, Harry moves out into the hall and whispers, “Graham, let me give you a hand.”

“It's fine, Dad,” Graham murmurs, but Harry refuses to be deterred.

He steps forward and slips on his shoes, grabbing the bag from Graham's hand and putting it down on the floor before moving round Graham to grab his coat. “Here,” he says gruffly and holds it open for him.

“Thanks,” Graham murmurs and slides one hand through the sleeve before transferring Jamie to his other shoulder so he can slip his other arm through.

Once Graham's wearing his coat, Harry takes Jamie's hat and slips it on his head gently. Then he murmurs, “Hang on,” and goes back into the sitting room, coming back out holding a blanket which he drapes over his grandson. “It'll be easier than his coat,” he whispers.

Graham nods and watches as his father pulls on his coat, slides his keys into his pocket, and grabs Jamie's bag and coat before unlocking the door and stepping out into the night. He waits for Graham to leave the house before pulling the door closed behind them and following his son to his car. Between them, they manage to get Jamie safely buckled in his car seat without waking him. Graham covers his son with the blanket he keeps in the car and hands Harry back his blanket saying, “Thanks, Dad. That was much easier than doing it on my own.”

“You're welcome, Son,” Harry smiles. “Drive safely. See you in the morning.”

“Good night,” Graham replies, and after stowing Jamie's bag and coat in the boot, he gets in the driver's seat and starts the engine before driving off.

 

 


	35. Chapter 35

_Three days later, 6th December, 3 pm_

 

“Did you see her?” Ruth asks as she follows him into his office.

“Yes,” he sighs, leaning over his desk with his back towards her.

“What happened?” she enquires.

“I want you to look into Jim Coaver for me,” he says, turning to face her and deliberately ignoring her question. It had been harder than he'd expected to see Elena again, to speak to her, hear her talk about Sasha, his son, to discover that the impostor was probably someone he'd considered a friend, one of the few he has left, and then to help Sasha deal with Anatoli's body. Death and betrayal at every turn. He's sick of it. All he wants is to be back home with Ruth and Fiona, living his life in peace, away from all this. He can't believe that there was a time in his life when he'd enjoyed this, craved it even. How different life would have been if he'd chosen another career, he muses... but then he wouldn't have met Ruth, he reminds himself quickly as he sees her watching him with eyes full of concern and love.

“You want me to investigate a CIA deputy director?” she asks with a puzzled frown, braking into his thoughts.

“I believe he's the one posing as me,” he replies. “You'll have to do it through back channels, tiptoe. I'll give you all the necessary clearances.”

She frowns at him and murmurs, “Harry-”

But he interrupts, taking a step towards her and reaching for her hand. “Please, Ruth. You're the only one I can turn to. Look into Jim Coaver for me. Reserve your judgement for later.”

“I'm worried about you,” she whispers as she raises her free hand to cup his cheek. “Sasha's your son, Harry... You're compromised. Can't you see that?”

“A short relationship led to a child,” he states calmly, pulling back. “Circumstances have prevented me from being involved in his life; it happens every day. If I'm emotionally compromised, I have been for thirty years. There's nothing to be done, Ruth. There never has been; I've tried.”

“I know,” she murmurs. “Just... promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you won't do anything stupid.”

He nods and replies, “I promise.”

“Good,” she smiles and presses a quick kiss to his lips, “because you're too precious to us, me and Fiona, and I don't want to visit you in prison or put flowers on your grave.” She pauses and looks at him lovingly before taking a step back and adding, “I'll go look into Coaver right away.” Then she turns and leaves the room, leaving him to contemplate the fact that he has never been called precious by any other woman before, except perhaps his mother.

 

 

_Next day, 7th December, 7 am_

 

She walks into the technical suite and smiles at the sight that greets her. Tariq's sleeping with his head resting on his arms in front of his terminal, his mouth gaping open. Walking up to him, she shakes his shoulder gently and murmurs his name.

He wakes with a start, sitting up suddenly and rubbing his eyes, before turning to look at her.

“Sorry,” he croaks. “I must have dozed off. What time is it?”

“It's seven in the morning,” she smiles. “Have you been here all night?”

“Yeah,” he replies as he stretches and turns to log back into his system.

“I thought I told you to go home,” she says reproachfully.

“I know,” he replies distractedly, “but I suddenly had an idea on how to speed up the search, and I decided to stay another half-hour to see if it would help. I must have fallen asleep while I...” He tails off as his screen comes to life and he looks at the CCTV image in front of him. “Why hello, beautiful. Where did you come from?” he says in an excited voice.

“I'd appreciate it if you didn't address my wife in that manner, Mr. Masood,” Harry growls as he walks up behind the techie.

“What?” Tariq asks, spinning his chair around to face him, his face the picture of confusion.

Ruth chuckles and Harry rolls his eyes and says, “Never mind. What have you got for me?”

“It looks like this woman is responsible for our laptop theft,” Tariq replies, turning back to his monitor and tapping away at his keyboard as he works to track her movements through CCTV.

“Morning, all,” Calum greets them cheerfully as he walks up to the group and peers at Tariq's screen. “Found something?” he asks and takes a seat, logging on immediately and proceeding to assist his colleague. “I'll run her through facial recognition.”

“Let me know what you find,” Harry says and walks off towards his office, motioning for Ruth to follow him.

Once inside, he asks her to close the door before turning to her and murmuring, “Elena's communiques from whoever's posing as me... I need to collect them from her tomorrow, but I can't risk being seen with her again.”

“No,” Ruth sighs, “that would not be wise. Don't worry. I'll do it.”

“Thank you, Ruth,” he replies, his gaze softening. “I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“You'd survive, I'm sure,” she says, a little bitterness creeping into her voice. This business with Harry's ex-lover and son is stating to get to her, making her angry at herself, Harry, and especially _that_ woman.

He takes a step forward and takes her hands in his before he replies earnestly, “That's not true, Ruth. I wouldn't survive losing you again. Last time was... unbearable. I went through the motions, throwing myself into work to take my mind off you, and I survived because I had a purpose, because it was all I knew. But now... I've had a taste of life with you, with Fiona, together, and I will never be able to go back to living without that... I would be a shell of a man if I lost you now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't kill Tariq... S.C.


	36. Chapter 36

 

_Next day, 8th December, 12 pm_

 

She pauses in the doorway to steady her nerves and observe the older woman for a moment. She looks remarkably beautiful and elegant despite her age, sitting on the bench with great poise, giving off an aura of being in control. Ruth wonders briefly if she's always been like that, or if being married to a spy and powerful man had led her to develop this trait. She'd been a ballet dancer in her youth, she remembers from her file, and with her beautiful face and lean, well toned body, it was no wonder that Harry's younger, testosterone and adrenaline fuelled self had fallen for her. _No, Ruth_ , she scolds herself, _don't think about that; focus_.

Taking a deep breath, she walks forward and takes a seat on the same bench as Elena Gavrik and a couple of feet away from her. She senses the Russian's eyes on her for a moment as she keeps her gaze on the painting, _The Execution of Lady Jane Grey_ , in front of her. She's never liked this painting much, and she wonders briefly whether it was Harry or Elena who'd decided on the precise location for this meet and if there was some subtle meaning behind their choice. Who is Lady Jane Grey? She or Elena, she wonders briefly before shaking herself free of the thought and focusing her mind on her task.

“Harry thought is was better not to risk another meet with you so soon,” she says.

“And you are the one he sends?” Elena replies, her voice coloured slightly by emotion.

It's irritation with a hint of jealousy, Ruth realises and it pleases her no end, boosting her confidence considerably. “Do you have the communiques?” she asks simply.

Elena reaches over and pulls aside the guide book that's lying on the bench between them, revealing a small, white, gift bag that had been hidden underneath it. Ruth slides her hand over to it and picks it up, stowing it away in her coat pocket before turning to look at the painting once more. She's read Elena's file from back to front several times over the past few days, looking for clues as to who could be posing as Harry, but there's something about the Russian that doesn't quite fit with the profile her file depicts. She comes across as almost too innocent, too naïve for someone who's married to a former KGB officer and who was spying for MI-5. Her gut's telling her that Elena Gavrik's not to be trusted and there's more to her than she lets on, especially to Harry. She certainly isn't the innocent damsel in distress that she wishes him to think, and the fact that she presents herself as such to him makes Ruth very suspicious of her motives. She wants to use him for something, but what?

Realising that this is probably going to be her only opportunity to talk to Elena alone, Ruth fells the need to engage her in conversation and see if she can learn something more about her, see if she can find something to confirm her suspicions or disprove them.

“My name's Ruth,” she says eventually, since the last time they'd met at the reception she'd been using an alias at Harry's insistence. It's a gesture of good faith as she's sure that the Russian has already looked her up and probably knows almost everything about her.

“I saw how you were together at the reception, Ruth,” Elena replies. “Harry loves you, doesn't he?”

The question surprises her and she finds herself becoming even more suspicious of the Russian. She's up to something, probing to find her weakness, to see how sure she is of her husband's affection for her. Well, she'll play along and see where this leads. It'll probably work to her advantage to make the Russian think that she's in control anyway. “I have no idea how to answer that question... or why I ever would,” she says hesitantly.

“But he trusts you though,” Elena adds quietly, seemingly pleased by her response and the uncertainty it betrays.

“Not completely,” she says this time.

“You can't expect complete trust from a man like Harry,” Elena replies. “He can't even give that to himself.”

She wonders what Elena means by that statement. Harry _does_ trust her and rely on her judgement and yet Elena's trying to tell her otherwise. If she wasn't so sure of Harry's love and trust, she would be very rattled by her words. As things stand, it just serves to confirm her dislike and distrust of Elena. She's playing on Harry's greatest weakness, his loyalty to those he cares about or feels responsible for, and just like with John Bateman it's going to be very difficult to shake that loyalty before someone gets hurt. She needs unequivocal proof and help in obtaining it. She can't ask any of the team to do it; she needs outside help and immediately thinks of Malcolm. She hasn't seen him in ages, but they've stayed in touch through email and the phone, and she's sure that he'll be willing to help, especially as it concerns Harry. He'd moved out of London more than a year ago now and rarely ventures back to the capital, but she feels that he might make an exception under the circumstances.

Her thoughts are interrupted by Sasha Gavrik approaching, and after Elena reassures her that it's safe, that Sasha brought her to the meet, Sasha addresses her, saying, “Where is Pearce?”

“It wasn't safe for him to come,” Ruth answers as she studies him quietly, looking with interest for any resemblance to Harry, but apart from a general similarity in their colouring and height, she finds none at all, and her suspicions are aroused once more.

“I want to know,” Sasha continues. “When you find out who wrote the messages, Harry comes to me. He owes me that much.” Then he turns to his mother and says, “We have to go.”

She nods, and as she passes by Ruth, she smiles and squeezes her hand, saying, “Thank you, Ruth,” and taking her by surprise. Elena Gavrik's a very good actress, Ruth concludes as she watches them leave, and a dangerous woman, and Harry's in deep trouble because he can't see it.

 

 

_Same day, 8th December, 1:30 pm_

 

“I'm still not entirely sure why I'd be necessary, Home Secretary,” Ruth murmurs quietly before glancing up at him.

“I'm a hoarder of intellects,” Towers smiles. “It's how I make myself look good. When the power map is being redrawn, I need to be ahead of the curve. But tell me about yourself, Ruth, if I may call you that.”

“Well, there's not much to tell really,” she replies. “I'm sure you already know all about me from Harry's report and my file. Until recently, my life outside my work had been... small. It's only in the last year really that I've managed to build something for myself outside of Thames House. My daughter has been a blessing and I am very much enjoying motherhood.”

“Good, good,” he smiles. “Parenthood is indeed very rewarding, and I can't help but point out that, were you to work for me, your hours would be much better suited to your family life, and as my security advisor, you would be liaising with the Security Services daily so you wouldn't have to sever all ties to your current colleagues. I know that you're a very close knit team.”

Ruth nods and replies, “I'll think about it, Home Secretary, and of course, I do need to speak to Harry first.”

“Of course,” he smiles. “And if you _do_ work for me, you'll call me William.”


	37. Chapter 37

_Same day, 8th December, 3 pm_

 

Ruth walks into his office and says, “17th of November, 1982.”

He doesn't even look up from what he's doing as he murmurs, “The mists aren't parting, Ruth.”

“The Kizlov ballet only performed in West Berlin once,” she explains as she enters the room, “on that date.”

He looks up, and after a momentary hesitation, he confirms, “Yes. It was Elena's cover, where Ilia thought she was going for the evening.”

“There's no mention of it in the records,” she adds.

“It wasn't an official operation,” he confesses quietly before raising his eyes to hers with a deeply apologetic look. He really hates having to discuss his liaisons with her like this. After his many sleepless nights spent thinking about Ruth with George, he can well imagine how difficult this must be for her.

There's silence for a moment as Ruth fights to push aside thoughts of Harry with Elena. “One of the messages does mention that night, and as it wasn't a sanctioned op, I'm assuming not many people knew about it,” she says eventually.

“Just me, Elena and Jim Coaver,” Harry confirms.

“Harry, if Jim Coaver wrote these messages, if he tricked Elena into thinking he was you, then we need to consider that he was involved in the attempted hit on Gavrik,” she states.

He nods and rubs his face with his hands as he adds, “And with what Tariq and Calum found out about the CIA's deniable asset, it also means that he was behind the theft of our laptop.”

Ruth frowns and takes a seat across from him, murmuring softly, “Harry, from what I've found in my research into Coaver, you and he were friends, close friends.”

He looks up at her and nods. “We were,” he sighs and thinks back to his meeting with Coaver only a few days ago. “I met up with him when he returned to London some days ago, and I thought...” He tails off, shaking his head and saying, “Never mind.”

“No, tell me,” she encourages. “What did he say?”

“When I was leaving the pub, after he'd denied running Elena Gavrik,” he murmurs, “he looked at me seriously for a moment and said that he always considered me a friend, and I thought... that he looked sincere.” He sighs again before pulling himself together and sitting up straight, quickly banishing the regret he feels at losing another friend, and says in a steady voice, “I must have been mistaken.”

Ruth looks thoughtful before she replies, “We need to be sure, Harry. It's possible that someone's setting Jim Coaver up.”

“Who?” Harry asks.

She frowns slightly, debating with herself if she should share her suspicions yet, before deciding against it. “I don't know. It's possible, however, that Jim Coaver's only responsible for running Elena, and the woman with the laptop is working for someone else. We have no real proof that the two are connected, other than the fact that the CIA _might_ be involved in both.”

Harry nods. “Then we get proof.”

 

 

_Next day, 9th December, 4 pm_

 

She waits on the walkway looking out over the Thames, lost in thought. She's about to take a big risk, but she's running out of time, running out of options. But if she 's wrong-

“So what is it with you guys and this hanging out by the river?” Jim Coaver's voice cuts across her thoughts and forces her to turn around to face him. He looks at her seriously, appraising her for a moment. “Now, I know you've been looking into me, Ruth,” he murmurs reproachfully before pausing for effect and continuing, “way back too, and I want to know why.”

“Shit!” Ruth mutters, she didn't expected him to know that. She looks away for a moment before meeting his eye again and saying, “It was a favour to Harry.”

“What the hell does he think I'm up to? Arming Cornish separatists?” Jim asks, looking surprised and a little indignant.

She almost smiles at that, but she manages to keep a straight face. She can see why Jim and Harry were good friends, and it makes her sad to think that they are being pushed apart and strengthens her resolve, so she answers quietly, “He's been betrayed too many times. He's seeing enemies everywhere.” She pauses for a moment and then adds, “He begged me to look into you and all I found out is that you two were friends, you trusted each other. I felt sorry for him. You're the one person he could always rely on and now-”

“I'm just another monster under the bed, huh?” Jim murmurs sadly.

Ruth nods.

“Yup. I've seen that happen to a lot of good people,” he says and then adds, “though I wouldn't call the men in white coats just yet.” She almost smiles again and watches as his gaze turns hard before he adds, “Berlin wasn't all wine and roses. Did you see the file on Treptower Park?”

“There was no file on what happened at Treptower Park,” she says immediately, knowing that he's trying to catch her out. Then she turns the tables on him. “But Harry told me,” she lies.

“Yeah,” Coaver sighs, looking a little surprised by this revelation, but since she's married to Harry, it isn't too far fetched to believe that he trusts her enough to share this information. “I would never have done it. I hope he knows that,” he says earnestly. “I don't shoot my friends. Family... maybe, but not my friends. I don't know what he told you, but he was out of control. Attempting to extract a top level asset without a shred of authorisation? A KGB officer's wife for Christ's sakes! He was endangering multiple operations and all because he'd knocked up Elena, felt bad about it. I had to stop him.”

“You were doing him a favour,” she replies quietly.

“Yeah, he didn't see it like that then,” he murmurs.

“You don't believe it, do you?” she asks bravely after pausing for a moment and taking a steadying breath.

“Don't believe what?” he replies cautiously.

“That he knocked up Elena,” she clarifies, looking steadily into his eyes.

He studies her for several seconds before asking, “Now, what makes you say that?”

“Because I don't believe it either,” she admits quietly.

“Go on,” he encourages.

“I can't,” she says, “because if I'm wrong...” She tails off and watches him for a moment as she tries to determine her next move.

“Whatever he thinks I've done,” Coaver replies quietly, “I haven't. Your agreement with the Russians... it's not something my government thinks is a good idea, but my mandate here is simply to observe and report back to Langley, nothing more.”

Ruth watches him carefully for any signs that he's lying, but she finds none. Of course, she never really expected there to be any. Jim Coaver's a pro, a boss spook, like Harry. “Who were you meeting this morning outside the park?” she asks.

He watches her cautiously, weighing up each possible answer he could give and what the result would be. In the end, he decides on the truth. “I was meeting a CIA deniable asset, n _om de guerre_ Veronica Duran.”

“Why?” she enquires, carefully hiding her surprise at his admission that he was at the park this morning when Elena had been shot.

“She arranged the meet with me, had some information to pass on,” he replies still watching her closely.

Ruth sighs and looks away frowning. He could be lying of course, but then again all the circumstances point to him telling the truth. Why would he admit being present if he was guilty? And if he'd ordered the hit on Elena, why would he do it just outside the park where Elena was supposedly going to meet him, Harry's impostor? It doesn't make sense. It's just too convenient. Jim Coaver's no amateur; he's too good to make such an elementary mistake. So she makes the only decision she can; she decides to trust him.

“Right after you left the park, Veronica Duran took a shot at Elena Gavrik and missed,” she says.

“What?” Coaver's so surprised by her statement that his eyebrows shoot up in disbelief.

Ruth remains silent, waiting for him to say something more.

“She missed?” he asks, and when Ruth nods, he frowns. “How far away was she?”

“About four, five yards,” she replies.

“Huh,” he exhales. “Duran's Israeli trained. From that distance, she must have missed on purpose.” He pauses and then adds, “So she arranged the meet to set me up, huh? I bet Hal took that well.”

This time Ruth does smile briefly, before turning serious. “The only theory I have that makes any sense right now is that Elena Gavrik hired Veronica Duran, and like you said, is trying to pin the blame for the attacks on the partnership on you and the CIA. In Harry's eyes, you're already an enemy, running Elena Gavrik to get intel on the Russian partnership, attempting to put a stop to it by arranging the assassination of Ilia Gavrik through Duran and stealing our laptop,” she says rapidly. “The question is why?” Coaver looks thoughtful for a moment so she continues, “You know Harry. He's loyal to a fault and will do anything to protect the people he cares about and especially his children.”

“Yeah,” Jim Coaver nods, “and he's always put the mother of his children up on a pedestal, refusing to admit that she shared the blame for his failed marriage and his subsequent estrangement from his children. I guess this is no different. He won't consider anything you say against Elena until you can prove that Sasha's not his.”

“I know,” she sighs. “I'm very worried about him. He's going to do something stupid and someone's going to get hurt. I already have someone working on obtaining proof that Sasha's not his son. Help me to prove that Elena is setting him up, that she's behind all this. Help me to find out why.”

He nods and murmurs, “Give me twenty-four hours; then I'll be in touch.”

“Thank you,” she says.

“He's lucky to have you, Ruth,” Coaver replies. “I hope he knows that.” Then he turns and walks back towards his car, leaving Ruth to breathe a sigh of relief.


	38. Chapter 38

_Same day, 9th December, 7 pm_

 

“Harry,” she says as she stands in the doorway to his office, “I'm going home.”

He looks up in time to see her turn away and walk out of the room. “Ruth,” he calls and gets up, moving swiftly towards the door and following her out to her workstation. “Ruth,” he murmurs quietly to avoid being overheard as there are several people still moving about the Grid, “please come to my office. I need to speak to you.”

“It's late, Harry,” she replies without turning to look at him. “I need to get home to Fiona.”

“Please,” he murmurs and reaches over to clasp her arm.

“Not now,” she insists, shaking her arm free and picking up her bag before turning to move towards the pods.

“Ruth,” he warns, his voice taking on an urgent tone. “Don't do this. We need to talk. We promised that we'd never go to bed angry or upset, remember?”

She pauses and takes a deep, shaky breath before striding off towards his office, going in, and stopping in front of his desk. Harry sighs in relief and follows her, closing and locking the door behind him, pulling the blinds closed, and coming to stand in front of her.

“I don't love her, Ruth,” he states. “I might have had feelings for her once upon a time, but she's a stranger to me now. I didn't want to be holding her... but she'd just been shot at, and I didn't feel I could just push her away... Truly, the only emotion I feel towards her now is guilt.”

“And yet you're going out of your way to protect her,” she says in a quiet voice brimming with emotion, “to ensure her safety, disregarding your own and mine in the process. You're considering going after a CIA Deputy Director, for Heaven's sake! Have you lost your mind? You gave me your word that you wouldn't do anything stupid, and yet here you are considering doing just that.” She turns away from him, and begins to pace across the room, trying to get her temper under control again.

“Ruth, I can understand you're angry-”

“Angry? You think I'm angry?” she demands as she turns to face him once more. “I'm not angry, Harry. I'm _livid_. I've tried to understand what you're going through, to be supportive and set aside my own feelings because I love you, and I don't want to throw away what we've had for the last couple of months, but I have limits too. And today, I reached my limit. I cannot stand the way you allow _that_ woman to manipulate you. Can you really not see what she's doing? Because the way you're going, soon there will be nothing left around you but death and destruction... You say that you have no feelings for her, but your actions speak otherwise. You're prepared to risk _everything_ for her and for an assignment that will be over in a week. _One_ _week_ , Harry. One week versus the rest of our lives together...” She turns away again, walking away from him as she struggles to maintain her composure and not break down in tears.

Harry's stunned by the vehemence of her words and it gives him pause. What _is_ he doing contemplating going after Jim Coaver? If he does that, it'll almost certainly spell the end of everything he has with Ruth, with Fiona, Graham, Jamie, Catherine, Catherine's unborn child. He will be hurting so many people he cares about, and for what? His injured pride? A woman he no longer cares for and a son he's never known, a son who's threatened Ruth and Fiona? He closes his eyes briefly. Y _ou're soft in the head, Pearce_ , he tells himself.

When he opens his eyes, Ruth's standing before him again, her eyes soft and pleading. “Don't throw it all away, Harry,” she murmurs as her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “Please. It's not worth it.”

“I'm sorry, Ruth. You're right,” he sighs. “I didn't think. I won't go after Jim.” He lifts his hands to her face, brushing away a stray tear that rolls down her cheek. “Forgive me, Ruth. I've been a fool. I've made a dog's dinner of everything again and I'm so sorry. I lost perspective. I swear I'll make it up to you. If it takes me the rest of my life, I'll make it up to you. I love you... so very much. I'd do anything for you. I'll go talk to Towers right now if you want me to. I'll tell him that I can't do this any more and I'll resign... I'd give everything I have for you, Ruth. Tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it.”

She shakes her head and sighs. She wants to stay angry with him a little longer, to not let him off the hook so easily, but when he looks at her like that and sounds so repentant, she just can't do it. And neither can she let him resign for her again. Albany was one time too many in her opinion, and though she knows that he doesn't resent her for it, she suspects that she won't be so lucky a second time. So she murmurs, “Just keep a level head, Harry, and remember who deserves your trust and your loyalty,” she sighs.

He nods and replies, “You're the only one I trust, Ruth. I don't even trust myself sometimes, which is probably rather wise of me, all things considered.” She smiles and he continues, pleased to have succeeded in making her do so. “We need to speed up these talks and quickly get this agreement signed, or not, before the CIA has time to mount any more attacks.”

“I think that would be wise,” she nods. “Now, I'm going home.”

“Okay,” he replies. “I have to stay a little longer. I need to ring the Home Secretary and finish up some paperwork.”

“All right,” she agrees and takes half a step closer to him so that their chests are almost touching. She notes the change in his breathing with pleasure as she murmurs softly, “Don't be too long, Harry. I've missed you and I want you... tonight. You know how much I love the make up sex.” She places her hand against his chest and slides it slowly down his tie as she leans in and captures his lips with her own.

He groans into her mouth and slides his arms around her, pulling her flush against him as he deepens their kiss. It's been ten days, the longest amount of time since just after Fiona was born, and he's missed her desperately. Being back on the Grid, dealing with Elena Gavrik and all the unresolved emotions that have cropped up, plus the long hours and unusually high operational load and intensity, have kept them physically and emotionally apart for the last week or so. In all honesty, he hasn't been sure if Ruth still wants him, and with Elena Gavrik cropping up between them, he can't blame her if she doesn't. It feels so good to know that she loves and wants him still, and he vows to finish up quickly and head home earlier than usual.

They pull apart a minute or so later, and Ruth takes a step back before murmuring, “I'll take that as a yes then.”

He nods, momentarily unable to find his voice, and steps back behind his desk, needing to put a physical barrier between them, lest he loses his self-control and takes her right here, right now.

Then as if she can read his mind, she murmurs seductively, “Perhaps one day before your commission is over and you leave this place for good, Harry, we could try out one of my numerous Thames House fantasies. The roof would probably be a little too cold in December, but your desk or the wall over there should be just perfect.”

He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and closes his eyes, fighting for control as he hears her walk away and leave his office, chuckling happily to herself at his reaction; revenge is so very sweet.

 

 

_Two days later, 11th December, 11 am_

 

“Ruth,” Harry says in an angry tone as he summons her over to his office and closes the door after her, “why wasn't I informed that Sasha Gavrik was attacked and injured last night?”

“I sent you a memo about it,” she frowns.

“Hrumph,” he grunts and turns to his desk, taking a seat and saying, “Ilia Gavrik wants to know what we're doing to apprehend those responsible.”

“Well,” she replies, walking up to stand in front of his desk, “Metro P.D. is investigating the incident. It looks like a robbery committed by a group of young thugs. He had everything stolen: watch, wallet, gun, ID-”

“Is he all right?” Harry interrupts quietly, concern etched on his features.

“He's fine,” Ruth nods. “He has a broken arm, his right, and a couple of broken ribs in addition to some bruising around his sides and face. I'm sure he's suffered worse in the past; he _is_ a KGB officer after all.”

“Yes,” Harry sighs and rubs his face with his hands.

“By the way,” Ruth murmurs softly, “I have an asset with some intel relevant to the Gavriks and the partnership. He wishes to meet me tonight and I was hoping you could come with me.”

He looks up in alarm and frowns at her. “Who is this asset?”

“He's reliable,” Ruth replies. “Don't worry. I'm not asking you to come for my safety. I just thought that you should hear what he has to say first hand.”

Harry nods. “Fine. What time?”

“At eight tonight,” she says. “I have the details here,” she adds and hands him a piece of paper.

“Okay, good,” he nods. He opens his mouth to say something more, but his phone rings and he has to answer it.

It's the Home Secretary, so Ruth leaves him to it, moving back to her work station with a sigh of relief. She hopes this meeting tonight will help Harry to see the truth, and though she's worried about how he'll react to the news about Elena and Sasha Gavrik, she knows he needs to know. They all do in order to find a way to stop her.


	39. Chapter 39

_Same day, 11th December, 8 pm_

 

Ruth and Harry arrive at the hotel after taking rigorous cleaning routes. The route they have to take to avoid being captured on CCTV is clearly mapped out on the piece of paper Ruth's been given, and they followed it carefully until they arrive at suite number 110 as instructed.

“Ruth,” Harry murmurs quietly. “How sure are you of our safety here?”

“One hundred percent,” she whispers with a smile. “He's an old friend.” Then she knocks on the door, spelling out the prearranged password, fire, in Morse code.

Moments later the door opens inwards and she steps into the dim room, which is lit by a small lamp in the corner, with Harry close behind her. The door closes after them and the overhead light comes on, causing them both to blink in its sudden brightness. Before their eyes have adjusted to the bright light, a familiar voice says, “I thought it was about time I looked you up though I am a little hurt that you didn't do so yourself once you'd retired, Harry. Suffolk isn't that far from London, you know.”

“Malcolm,” Harry smiles.

“The very same,” he replies.

“I'm so glad to see you again, Malcolm,” Ruth cuts in, and stepping forward, she embraces him briefly before pulling back to look at him. “You look good. Retirement suits you.”

“And you, Ruth, look wonderful,” he answers. “Motherhood certainly suits you.”

“Thank you,” she smiles.

Malcolm turns to Harry and adds, “Congratulations, Harry. You finally got what you wanted and deserved. You look years younger.”

“Thank you, my friend,” Harry smiles as he shakes Malcolm's hand, “but was all this secrecy really necessary? You know you can just drop in on us any time.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Malcolm replies. “Unfortunately today's meeting is business as well as pleasure. Ruth asked me to look into something for her that she wanted to keep away from the Grid.”

Harry frowns and turns to look at Ruth, but before he has a chance to ask her about it, there's a knock on the door in the form of another Morse code message, ice. Malcolm motions for them to take a seat on the sofa, which they do as he switches the light off and moves towards the door to let the new arrival in. Once the door's closed, the light comes on and they all blink in the brightness.

Harry's jaw clenches in anger when he sees who's standing before him and he grinds out, “What's he doing here?”

“It's nice to see you too, Harry,” Jim Coaver murmurs in response as he eyes his friend, not quite trusting that he doesn't have a weapon concealed about his person that he might choose to use against him.

“Right,” Ruth says and gets up. “Everyone's here now. Malcolm meet, Jim Coaver. Mr. Coaver, this is Malcolm.”

“Jim,” he smiles as he turns to her. “Don't make me feel old, Ruth.”

“Sorry, Jim,” Ruth smiles.

“That's better,” he replies before turning to Malcolm and shaking his hand. “Malcolm Wynn-Jones if I'm not mistaken,” he says. “Harry's best technical officer if memory serves. He was always singing your praises.”

Malcolm blushes and shakes hands with Coaver murmuring his thanks. Harry's eyeing everyone from his place on the sofa, feeling angry and betrayed. His eyes come to rest on Ruth, the woman he would have trusted with his life, the woman he thought would never betray him, but she has and it hurts more than he'd thought possible. Ruth meets his gaze, and seeing the pain in his eyes, she knows what he must be thinking. She gives him a tentative smile and an apologetic look before turning to the others and saying, “Let's take a seat and begin. We don't have a lot of time.”

They each sit down, Ruth beside Harry on the sofa, Jim across from him in an armchair and Malcolm in a chair by Harry.

“Right,” Ruth begins addressing the group of men before her as if she was back at Thames House, briefing the team. “We all know that Ilia Gavrik has been working with our government on an agreement between Britain and Russia. If it succeeds, it will be his biggest political achievement to date. We also know that Elena Gavrik used to be an MI-6 and CIA asset, turned by Harry and Jim in '81 while they were both stationed in Berlin.” Jim and Harry's eyes meet across the distance that separates them, their gazes fathomless. “Harry set a honey trap for Elena Gavrik and they became lovers, resulting in the conception of a child, Sasha Gavrik. Subsequently, Harry attempted to conduct an unauthorised extraction of Elena and her son, which Jim here prevented.” Harry's eyes dart to hers momentarily before moving back to Jim Coaver, the anger he's feeling clearly visible in their depths now. So Jim Coaver has been telling Ruth about Treptower park. Is that how he'd got her to trust him?

“Now,” Ruth continues, “Sasha Gavrik found some recent communiques that suggested that Harry was still running Elena. Harry of course was not, so he concluded that someone was posing as him. In one of the communiques that were given to us by the charming Elena,” she can't resist adding sarcastically, earning her a smile from Jim and Malcolm and a frown from Harry, “a specific night and a trip to the Kizlov ballet was mentioned, which according to Harry was not an official op and, therefore, was only known to Harry, Jim and Elena herself. This and the discovery that a certain Veronica Duran, a CIA deniable asset, was responsible for arranging the assassination attempts on Ilia and Elena Gavrik and the theft of the MI-5 laptop, led Harry to believe that Jim was the impostor and that the CIA are trying to derail the talks through the use of Black Ops.”

She pauses for breath and looks around. Harry's glaring at Jim, Jim's looking non-pulsed, and Malcolm's just watching them uneasily. “Now,” she states. “My research into the three of you led me to believe that Elena Gavrik is not who she seems.” That gets Harry's attention and he turns to look at her. “Initially I thought that her attempts to manipulate you, Harry, were just done to see if she still could. However, I realised that there was more to it than that when she began to try to manipulate me too, by trying to plant seeds of doubt about your feelings for me. The most convincing evidence, however, was her attempted assassination. I couldn't bring myself to believe that someone as experienced as Jim would hire an assassin and arrange the details of the hit at the location where it was to take place. And not only that, but the assassin hired would be incompetent enough to actually miss from a few yards away!”

Harry blinks. “Why didn't you tell me?” he asks, speaking for the first time since Jim's appearance.

“Because you wouldn't have believed me. If you'd believed that Jim wasn't behind the attacks and, therefore, was _not_ the impostor, it only left one explanation. That Elena herself wrote those communiques in order to frame Jim, destroy your friendship with him, and blame the Americans for sabotaging the talks.”

Harry stares. “Why would she do that?”

Ruth shrugs and turns to Jim, “That's what I'm hoping Jim can tell us.”

“I can see why you love this woman, Harry,” Jim smiles. “You're one lucky bastard to have her. I hope you know that.”

Harry swallows and nods, all the love he's always felt for her coming flooding back in an instant. He reaches his hand across to her, placing it over her hands as they lie folded together in her lap. “I do,” he murmurs and she smiles, the relief she feels evident in her eyes.

“Good,” he jokes, “because I'm sure there are plenty of guys biding their time, just waiting for you to screw it up so they can step into your shoes.”

“There are,” Malcolm confirms quietly, causing everyone else to laugh and the tension to finally break.

“Right,” Jim continues, “to business. We've been working on a number of leads relating to your talks with the Ruskies over the last few weeks. Yesterday, we were finally able to trace a call made by Veronica Duran after the assassination attempt on Ilia Gavrik. The recipient of the phone call was one, Michail Levrov, formerly part of a group within the KGB that handled Black Ops and currently a business man with ties to a right-wing ultra-nationalist group. Interestingly enough, his name also crops up in Berlin in the early '80s, but we haven't been able to find any further links there. However, we were able to obtain Elena Gavrik's medical records from that time. She gave birth to Alexandr Iliavich Gavrik on the 10th of November 1981. Just over eight months after you first... seduced her, Harry, which I thought was interesting-”

“And ties in nicely with the information Ruth asked me to look into,” Malcolm cuts in. “After obtaining DNA samples from Sasha Gavrik and you, Harry, I-”

“How?” Harry asks in surprise.

“Oh, come on, Hal,” Jim replies with some amusement. “The kid was beaten up pretty badly last night, which I guess was Malcolm's doing?” He looks at Malcolm for confirmation, raising one eyebrow in enquiry.

“Well,” Malcolm murmurs quietly, “I didn't do the deed myself, but I did use a contact of mine who was able to put the lad out of action as requested.”

All eyes turn to Ruth who blushes and then looks at them defiantly. “ _That_ man threatened my daughter,” she declares, “and no one gets away with that.”

There's a look of admiration in Jim's eyes as he continues, “Well in any case, it would have been easy to get a DNA sample from the guy once he was knocked out. And as for you, Harry, well, I imagine your wife could think of a bunch of different ways to do _that..._ some of them more enjoyable than others.”

Jim chuckles making Ruth blush, while Harry looks dumbfounded as he turns to stare at her. Malcolm clears his throat. “It was a cheek swab obtained while you were asleep,” he clarifies. “Anyway, the point is that the DNA samples did not match. You are not the father of Sasha Gavrik, Harry.”

Harry looks stunned, and when he fails to say anything, Jim continues, “Which ties in with the medical records we found and proves that Elena Gavrik was already pregnant when she began her affair with you, and that she probably knew it.”

“But why? What did she have to gain by making Harry believe that he was the father of her son?” Ruth asks.

“Perhaps in the hope that Harry would help her defect,” Malcolm suggests.

“That doesn't make sense,” Jim replies, “because she would have ended up as a single mother in a foreign country. She would never have been able to live with Harry for her own protection. Besides which, Hal was still married at the time... Unfortunately, we're not in possession of all the facts.”

“Could it have been Ilia Gavrik behind it all?” Malcolm asks.

“The thought did occur to me,” Jim replies. “I thought it was possible that he'd discovered that she was Harry's asset, forced her to tell him everything, and has been trying to get revenge since. But Elena's deception goes back years, and I'm sure Ilia would never have used his own wife for a honey trap. He worshipped the ground she walked on. I have an idea that it has something to do with this Levrov character. He's obviously linked to the attacks on the partnership, as is Elena Gavrik.”

“And you says that he was in Berlin in the early eighties,” Ruth continues his train of thought. “What if he recruited her? You says he was KGB. He could have recruited her to honey trap Harry!” She says the last statement with great excitement causing the three men to stare at her in amazement. “What?” she asks when their gazes remain on her for long moments and they all start smiling, Harry with eyes full of love, Malcolm with fondness, and Jim with amusement.

“I hope Gian will feel just as excited and pleased if she ever discovers that I've been honey trapped,” Jim chuckles. “You really are something else, Ruth.”

“The idea is plausible,” Malcolm says thoughtfully, stepping in to rescue Ruth. “But we need proof and we need to figure out what they're going to do next.”

Jim nods and replies, “Well, I'll leave you to it. I'm sure Langley would go ballistic if they found out I've been helping you Brits save your partnership with the Ruskies, so I'm going to bow out now while I'm still ahead of the game.”

He gets to his feet and everyone else does also. He bids Malcolm goodnight and then turns to Ruth who steps forward and gives him a hug. “Thank you, Jim. I really appreciate your help.”

“You're more than welcome, Ruth. What are friends for, eh?” he says as he looks over her shoulder at Harry.

“If you're still in London by the end of all this,” Ruth smiles, “you'll have to come round to dinner.”

“It's a date,” he nods.

“I'll give you a ring,” she replies as Harry steps forward and offers Jim his hand.

“Thank you, Jim,” he says. “I'd say I owe you an apology. I'm sorry I distrusted you.”

“Ah, it's all right, Hal,” he grins as he takes Harry's hand and leans in for a hug, clapping him on the back with his left hand. “It's all water under the bridge. In your position, I might have come to the same conclusions, though I think that I'd have picked up on the whole 'your the father on my kid' trick a little sooner. I mean, he looks nothing like you, Harry.”

Harry merely nods and purses his lips, not knowing what to say. He's finding it hard to deal with all the emotions the revelations of the last half hour had produced, so he's pushed them all to the side for now. There will be time to think later. He feels Ruth's hand slip through his arm and squeeze his bicep gently in support and he smiles slightly. Dear, sweet, strong Ruth's always there for him. He really has no clue what he would do without her.


	40. Chapter 40

 

_Next day, 12th December, 2 pm_

 

He pauses in front of the door to compose himself, straightening his tie before reaching for the handle and opening the door. Elena stands framed in the doorway, looking elegant and poised as always.

“Thank you for coming,” he murmurs, his voice deep with the strain of holding himself together, not letting his knowledge of her betrayal show on his face.

She steps into the hall, looking around her before turning towards him and saying, “Tell me you don't live here.”

He closes the door behind her and answers, “Nobody lives here. Well... nobody real.”

She turns and walks into the sitting room, reaching to flick on the light, but he puts his hand out to stop her, sliding it across hers and murmuring, “Best not. We're not supposed to be here.”

She holds his gaze for a moment, her eyes betraying nothing, before turning and walking towards the fireplace. Leaning into the door frame to brace himself, he says, “Elena, Jim Coaver has left the country and I will make sure that he doesn't return.”

She pauses before turning to face him, her gaze turning angry though her voice is steady, controlled as she says, “But he tried to kill me, and you let him get away?”

“He denies that. He says that he isn't the person that's been running you,” he murmurs.

“And you believe him?” she asks, her face betraying her surprise.

“I'm inclined to,” he replies, watching her carefully.

She looks away, surprised, upset, and probably working out her next move as she takes a seat in the chair next to her. “But who would be so desperate to kill the partnership as America?” she asks as she turns her head to look at him. “If it is not Jim, then who, Harry? Who?”

He looks away unable for the moment to hold her gaze as she lies once more to his face. He shrugs, stepped into the room, and walks across to the window, gazing out at the street below. He's silent for a little while, contemplating his next words. He'd wanted to meet her again, now that he knows the truth about Sasha, to see if he can discern anything that he'd missed before and to see if she'd give anything away. For once, he has the upper hand and he doesn't want to lose that, he mustn't let her suspect that he knows. “Ilia,” he says eventually, “has he changed over the years?”

“How do you mean?” she asks.

“As a man, as a husband,” he murmurs.

She takes a deep, shaky breath and replies, “It took me many years to see him as that. To begin with I felt that he was... my captor.” He turns away from the window to look at her as she continues speaking. “But after a while, I realised that we were both trapped. Me by my betrayal, him by his duty.”

“For a man you betrayed so completely,” Harry frowns, “you speak fondly of him.”

She looks angry and surprised for a moment and says, “For all I hated his beliefs, his system that he defended, he was a good man then and he is a good man now. _He_ never left me standing in Treptower Park waiting for an extraction that never came.”

Harry looks away guiltily, annoyed with himself that she can still manipulate him like this, but unable to get rid of the feelings that her words evoke. Apparently, it'll take longer than a day. He sighs deeply.

“Why are you asking about Ilia?” Elena enquires after a moment.

“I don't believe Jim Coaver is behind what's been happening,” he says carefully, “which only leaves Ilia.”

“No!” she exclaims and gets up, walking across the room as she adds, “I don't believe it. Ilia's a modernist, a politician. He has put all that behind him.”

“You can't put is behind you,” Harry objects. “Look at us.”

“It can't be Ilia,” she demands, looking and sounding upset as she walks over to stand in front of him. “I share his bed; I would be able to tell.”

“Maybe he kept it from you most of all, Elena,” Harry admits quietly as he searched her face.

“What are you saying?” she whispers in alarm. “That he might know about us?”

“We cannot underestimate him,” he murmurs.

She looks upset, close to tears as she raises her hand to touch his face, pressing it against his cheek and lips. She's good, he thinks and feels disgusted with himself, that he'd let her use him and had fallen for her deception so completely. He raises his hand to capture hers, murmuring her name in warning.

She closes her eyes and swallows, playing the scared and hurt innocent to perfection. “Kiss me,” she whispers, on the verge of tears. “It is the least that you can do.”

Repulsed, he pulls her into his arms, fearing that his face will betray his feelings and give the game away. “Elena,” he whispers after a moment once his emotions are back under control. “I'm sorry. I could have done so much more.”

“Please, please, don't let it be him,” she pleads, clinging to him tightly.

Minutes pass as he holds her against his chest, wondering if any of it had been real, for her and for him. He'd spent most of last night pondering this question. What had his feelings for this woman been? She had certainly dazzled him and he had wanted her badly, but had he been in love with her? He'd concluded that he'd felt something for her, but it had faded, just like it had with Jane and Juliet. At the time, he'd thought it was love, but now that he's fallen in love with Ruth, he has to acknowledge that it wasn't. At least, it wasn't as deep a love as what he feels for her. His love for Ruth has never once wavered, nor had he forgotten her whilst she was away. Not once, since he'd realised that he was in love with her, has he wanted anyone else. Despite his body's occasional need for sexual release, he'd found, to his surprise, that he had no desire to bed another woman, but instead had preferred to bang one out while thinking of her, dreaming of her, waiting for her.

Turning his thoughts back to Elena Gavrik, he releases her and takes a step back saying, “It's probably best if we go now. We don't want to be missed. I'll sort this out, Elena.”

She nods and softens her eyes, murmuring, “Thank you, Harry.”

“How is Sasha?” he asks and is surprised at the concern he still feels for the boy even though he knows now that he's not his.

“He will be okay,” she replies. “I was so worried about him. When I was told... I thought that it was another attack on the partnership, that he was badly hurt. But they say it was just a robbery.”

“Yes,” Harry replies. “Hopefully the deal will be signed soon and you can take him home.”

“Yes,” she nods and gazes at him for long seconds.

“Shall we?” he asks as he shifts his body away from her and lifts his arm in invitation.

She moves out of the room, towards the front door, and he follows, stepping around her to open it, saying, “Best if we leave separately.”

“Of course,” she smiles and reaches up to kiss his cheek, taking him by surprise. “Goodbye, Harry.”

“Bye,” he murmurs as he opens the door and she slips out, pausing on the doorstep to look at him once more before turning and walking away.

He shuts the door quickly, leaning against it for a moment as he wipes a hand across his cheek to remove the offending kiss before moving back into the sitting room. He stands at the window once more and contemplates his next move. Elena, Levrov and whoever else is in on this plot, are attempting to sabotage the partnership. Their targets so far have been Ilia Gavrik and MI-5, which indicates that anyone involved in the talks is at risk. That's another reason that he hadn't wanted to confront Elena today. He suspects that he and Ruth are only safe because Elena still believes that she can manipulate them to do her bidding. Which indicates that they plan to use him, perhaps as a last resort, to sabotage the partnership. That's what he would do in their place. Give enough information to convince him that they're serious and let him do the rest. In the mean time, there are others that need protection. The Home Secretary and Ilia Gavrik being the main candidates for the next attack.

He brings his hand up to his face and rubs his eyes tiredly; he'd hardly slept at all last night. The movement of his arm causes a whiff of her perfume that was clinging to his clothes to reach his nostrils. Smelling her on him suddenly makes him feel revolted, and he pulls his jacket off and flings it angrily on a nearby chair. He doesn't want to smell anyone but Ruth on his clothes, on his skin. Just Ruth for the rest of his life. And Fiona perhaps, he concedes with a smile as he thinks of his daughter, the way she enjoys nestling her head under his chin as he walks around the house, humming to her softly. She's so warm, so small, so soft and precious.

His phone rings, intruding on his thoughts. “Yes,” he answers.

“Harry, it's Towers,” Ruth's worried voice replies. “There was a car bomb; it took out half the street, injuring five people including the Home Secretary. His driver's in critical condition, Harry.”

“I'm on my way,” he states, feeling the anger bubble up inside him.

“He's at Guys and St. Thomas,” she replies.

“Right.”

“How did it go?” she asks anxiously as he lets himself out of the house, closing and locking the door.

“As expected,” he murmurs. “She didn't reveal anything other than the fact that she's still playing on my guilt, but to what end, I do not know. She also spoke highly of Ilia, said he was a good man.”

“Perhaps he is in her eyes,” Ruth replies.

“Ruth, the man has killed-” Harry says, his voice rising with his anger.

“What I meant, Harry,” she murmurs down the phone in a soothing voice, “is that he too was fighting for his country, he too did things that were morally reprehensible, but that perhaps he's changed... like you have.”

He sighs and nods, forgetting that she can't see him. “I, however, have never sought to benefit financially or otherwise from the state I chose to protect.”

“I never said that _I_ think he's a good man, Harry,” Ruth smiles. “And he's certainly nowhere near as wonderful as you.”

He smiles in spite of himself and replies, “I'd better go. I'm in my car already.” He pauses and adds, “I love you.”

“I love you more,” she murmurs and hears him chuckle before he hangs up.


	41. Chapter 41

 

_Same day, 12th December, 9 pm_

 

He looks up in surprise as Ilia Gavrik approaches his table with a drink. It's vodka he notices and almost smiles as his mind drifts back to the office party last year, the last time he'd experimented with the drink that had led to the biggest blessing in his life, Ruth and Fiona.

“I come in peace,” Ilia says and then adds with a little half-smile, “but I am of course prepared for war... should you prefer it.”

Harry simply nods his head and gestures to the empty seat across from him. He's stopped at the pub on his way home today, something he hasn't done in ages, but tonight, he feels like he needs a drink... alone. Just occasionally, he needs some space.

He glances around for Ilia's bodyguards, but they're not immediately apparent.

“They stayed downstairs,” Ilia states as if reading his mind.

Harry turns his eyes on his old adversary and asks, “To what do I owe the pleasure, Ilia?”

He's silent for a few moments. “We are not so different, you and I, Harry,” he states eventually in his deep measured tones. “Old warriors who have attempted to move on, to change our lives.”

“I was doing rather well until you showed up again,” Harry mutters darkly, making Ilia laugh.

He watches Harry thoughtfully for a moment as he takes a swig of his whisky. Then he says, “You know, Harry, it is a miracle for anyone to find love... and especially people like us. You cannot find the same solace in ideology. You have to take a hold of love when you find it... however imperfect, whatever the compromise, whatever the cost.” He pauses and Harry wonders where he's going with this train of thought. Then he continues, “so whilst I still work for Russia, I no longer have any dreams for her, nor any enmity towards the West. We are, all of us, faded empires. Whether we sign this treaty, or not, is of no personal interest.”

Harry purses his lips and replies, “I find that hard to believe, Ilia. I am told that it would be the biggest achievement of your political career.”

Ilia shrugs and says, “My career is of little consequence to me. I have a home. I have a wife and a son. I have a tortoise in the garden if you can believe that. We have friends and relatives. It is a place full of life.”

“Sounds idyllic until you consider all the people you've executed to get there,” Harry can't help pointing out.

“And of course, you've never killed anyone, Harry,” he replies calmly. “It gets so much easier to kill as we rise. All we have to do is pick up the phone... and I hate that. I want the gun to be in my hand, not in some boys that I have ordered, sitting behind a desk, being God. That way lies a black soul... I didn't want to be you, Harry.”

“What _do_ you want, Ilia?” Harry can't help asking.

“I know Elena spied for you,” he replies in measured tones. Harry manages to keep his face impassive despite the shock of this revelation. “The KGB took her less than two years after you fled from Berlin,” Ilia continues. “She was suspected of espionage, interrogated. I thought at first it was a mistake. I soon realised it was not. I felt betrayed of course, but I couldn't bear the thought of losing her. I did everything I could. Pleaded her innocence even as I knew her guilt. And miraculously... it worked. They let her go. I never told her I was the one who had secured her freedom.”

“So all this time, you knew?” Harry asks.

“That you had turned her, that she had spied for you, that she had loved you, that it had ended,” he confirms. “Not many people live with betrayals. It may be the least I deserve, but... I have a house and wife. I have a son... and a tortoise in the garden.”

Harry takes another gulp of his drink before replying, “You're a bigger man that I'd thought, Ilia.” He contemplates what the Russian had done and wonders if he'd ever be able to do the same. Once again he feels extremely lucky to have Ruth, a woman who would never betray him. He's sure that she loves him and that, if she ever stops loving him, she will tell him. She might leave him, but she would never betray him. With that sad and yet comforting thought, he drains his glass and rises from the table, saying, “I must get home. I'll see you in the morning, Ilia.”

“Good night, Harry,” Ilia replies.

Harry's a little uneasy as he descends the stairs and exits the pub. Ilia may have forgiven Elena, but that doesn't mean that he's forgiven him. He walks briskly down the street in the cold December air, turning his collar up against the chill and digging his hands deeper into his pockets. His eyes scan the road up ahead, keenly looking out for anything out of place and avoiding the few pedestrians that are braving the bitter cold; you never know if one of them is in possession of the means to inject a lethal drug into your blood stream as they casually bumped into you in the street. It's an old, cold war trick that's still as effective as ever. Two blocks down the road, he hails a cab.

He gets out a couple of blocks from home and takes a detour through the park. He used to walk Scarlet here, he remembers sadly, suddenly missing his faithful companion. Perhaps they'll get another dog once all this was over, he thinks as he turns into his street, satisfied that no one's tailing him. As he nears his home, he notes that the lights are off, except for the lamp in the sitting room, and he hopes that Ruth's waiting up for him. Suddenly, his desire to be alone tonight has vanished and he craves her company, needing to lose himself in her love.

He unlocks the door and enters the house, closing and locking the door behind him, and resetting the alarm before removing his coat and shoes, sliding on his slippers, and placing his keys on the hall table. He can hear music coming from the sitting room. Something new, he notes. He hasn't heard it before, but he likes the melody. He pauses listening as the music drifts out to him.

 

“ _I have died everyday waiting for you._  
_Darling don't be afraid, I have loved you_  
_for a thousand years;_  
_I'll love you for a thousand more._  
  
_And all along I believed I would find you._  
_Time has brought your heart to me, I have loved you_  
_for a thousand years;_  
_I'll love you for a thousand more._ ” 

 

Quietly he walks to the sitting room and stops in the doorway. Ruth's sitting on the sofa, her feet curled up underneath her as she leans back against the cushions, her fingers playing across her thigh in time to the music, and her eyes closed as she sings along to the song. He stands there motionless, taking in the vision before him as the music fills the air around him. _I have died everyday waiting for you; darling don't be afraid I have loved you for a thousand years_... this is exactly how he'd felt this time last year. _I'll love you for a thousand more..._

Eventually the song ends, but Ruth doesn't open her eyes. She simply lies there and waits for it to begin again. She's put it on repeat, he realises and can no longer hold himself back. “Ruth,” he murmurs and steps into the room.

She opens her eyes, lifting her head to look at him and smiling. “Harry,” she whispers with pleasure, “you're home.”

“I am,” he replies as he approaches and sits down beside her. “You're...” he pauses and swallows, momentarily overcome by emotion. “Stunning,” he finishes.

“Thank you,” she replies and reaches her hand up to stroke his cheek. “You're freezing,” she declares.

“It's cold out,” he answers. “What is this song?”

“It's called 'A thousand years' by Christina Perri,” she smiles. “Every time I hear it on the radio, I think of you, so I bought it today. I needed something to cheer me up.”

“Ruth,” he murmurs as he slowly leans in to kiss her, his eyes never leaving hers. He pauses a hair's breadth away and whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you more,” she answers as she slides her hands into his hair and pulls him towards her.

 

 

_Two days later, 14th December, 11am_

 

She watches her get up and walk towards her, hiding the antipathy and contempt she feels for her behind a mask of calm control. A born spook he'd called her, she thinks and has to suppress a smile.

“Ruth, I have to see Harry,” Elena says as she stops in front of her. “I have new information.”

“I'm afraid that's impossible,” Ruth replies, no longer hiding the animosity she feels for the other woman.

Elena seems surprised and replies, “You don't understand; lives are at risk, but I can only speak to him.”

“What do you mean?” Ruth asks.

Elena turns around for a moment to look at her husband and Towers who are posing for press photos after signing the agreement. Presumably she's checking if the coast is clear, Ruth thinks. “The woman who shot at me is Veronica Duran,” the Russian says as she turns back to face Ruth, her eyes hard and calculating and for once reflecting the true nature of their owner. “A freelance, black ops asset who worked for the CIA. Collison, the man who tried to assassinate my husband, gained entry by hacking onto the security database with a rigged net-worm. The bomb left for your Home Secretary was planted by a team of mercenaries led by Rustam Ilescu, a Moldovan born man educated in America. Now, do you see why I have to speak to Harry?” Ruth does her best to look surprised as Elena Gavrik turns to look at her husband again before adding, “Get me in a room with Harry, today.” Then she walks away from her and sits down in the seat she'd vacated just a moment ago.

Ruth turns away, pulling her phone out of her pocket and calling her husband. “Hi, it's me,” she murmurs a little nervously.

“Hello,” he replies, his voice taking on the low burr he reserves just for her.

“It's happening. She's ready to play her last hand,” she says.

“Good,” Harry smiles. “We're ready for her. You know what to do. I'm sending Calum to help you extract her.” She nods forgetting that he can't see her, but as if he can sense her hesitation and fear, he murmurs quietly, “You can do this, Ruth. You're a born spook. This'll be our last op together. Let's have some fun.”

She smiles at the lightness and playfulness of his tone and knows that he's enjoying this. She supposes that after so many years in the service, it must be nice for him to go into an operation knowing that it's his last, that he'll be leaving as soon as it's over. “All right. Let's give em what's for,” she replies and hears him laugh before she hangs up. Harry Pearce, boss spook, ruthless and cold hearted bastard is back, she thinks with a smile, and Elena Gavrik, Michail Levrov and anyone else involved in this plot are screwed.


	42. Chapter 42

_Same day, 14th December, 1:30 pm_

 

“Elena, if you've withheld information that could have helped us earlier,” Ruth says quietly as she stands behind the Russian in the lift, “we're going to have a problem.”

“You understand the guilt Harry's always felt about me, about Sasha? Do you think it's what's kept you from being together for so long?” she asks. Then when Ruth doesn't answer she adds, “Don't worry. Harry will see things differently soon.”

Ruth has to bite the inside of her cheek and ball her hands into fists to stop herself from giving the Russian a piece of her mind. She's never felt such a strong desire to hit anyone before. Fucking bitch, she thinks, you just wait until Harry's finished with you. The thought comforts her and helps her to calm down as they exit the lift and she takes the lead. They walk out of the hotel and down the road, getting into the back of the car that's waiting for them.

“Where to girls?” Calum asks as they get in. “And don't say south of the river.”

It makes Ruth almost smile. She loves Calum's caustic wit, and she realises that she'll miss him very much when she leaves in a few days. Perhaps she won't have to though if she takes up the Home Secretary's offer. She pushes aside the thought as quickly as it appears, turning her full attention to the current op. There'll be time to think later. As the car pulls out of the parking spot and into London traffic, Ruth surreptitiously sends a message to Harry from her phone.

The drive is conducted in silence, and by the time they arrive at the deserted cold war bunker Harry's selected as their interrogation site, they're all relieved to get out of the confining space of the car. Calum and Ruth escort Elena inside and leave her in the interrogation room, closing and locking the door behind them before they go to find Harry and the others. Tariq has remained on the Grid in order to have access to the full power of the MI-5 computers and network. Calum has a laptop he can connect remotely to the Grid, and Erin and Dimitri are ready to move the moment they get the necessary information from Elena. They're more prepared that Elena can possibly suspect, so they have the upper hand in that respect. However, depending on the nature of the threat she's going to expose, their advantage might not last long, and it worries Harry. At least, no one will guess where they're holding Elena. That's the reason behind his decision to bring her here. Ilia Gavrik's probably already aware of who's taken his wife, and he means to make it very difficult for him to find her. They need all her intel first.

 

 

_Same day, 14th December, 3 pm_

 

“Shall we?” he smiles at Ruth.

“You're enjoying this far too much,” she murmurs as they turn towards the room where Elena Gavrik's being held.

“Do you blame me?” he asks.

“No,” she shakes her head. “I'm rather looking forward to you taking her down a peg or two, but I'm a little concerned that you're getting a little cocky. We can't afford any mistakes.”

He smiles, surprised both by Ruth's gentle reprimand and by the fact that he doesn't mind it. Just a few months ago, she would never have felt comfortable enough to say something like that at work, and he would have seen it as an act of insubordination. It pleases him that they've grown so close that they no longer feel threatened by each other, and he trusts her not to make such comments in front of the others; she knows better than to undermine his authority in such a way. “I hate to point this out, Ruth,” he murmurs in reply, “but I was doing this while you were still in nappies. I think I know how to handle this interrogation.”

“I have no doubt that you do, Harry,” she smiles sweetly, “but you're wrong on two counts.”

“Which are?”

“Firstly, you just _loved_ pointing it out,” she replies, “and secondly, I was most definitely _not_ in nappies when you first joined the service seeing as I was potty trained before two.”

Harry's still chuckling as they approach the large metal door behind which Elena's being held. Erin and Dimitri are waiting just outside it, standing closer together than strictly necessary and it makes Ruth smile. She wonders if they're together already, or if they haven't got that far yet. Certainly they won't take as long as she and Harry did. They're too young and bold to do that, though she knows that, for her and Harry, it's worked out for the best in the end and has been well worth the wait. Still, she muses, Erin will probably want to wait until she's established her authority as Head of Section before pursuing a relationship with Dimitri. They're probably not quite there yet then, she concludes.

“Ready?” Harry asks as he looks between his two field officers. They nod, and with a last look at Ruth, he takes the key from Calum, who's just made an appearance, and prepares to enter the room, pushing aside all thoughts unrelated to the operation and focusing his mind on breaking Elena Gavrik.

She looks as elegant as ever as he approaches, carefully keeping his expression neutral.

“There is an attack planed on London in a few hours,” she states after taking a moment to appraise him. “I don't know any details. All I have is the number of a go-between: 020 7946 0628. He handles their communications.”

“Who are they?” Harry asks.

“I will tell you everything I know, but please, you must find this man,” she replies, then seeing Harry hesitate, she adds, “There isn't much time.” She takes a step closer. “Harry, they want hundreds of deaths.”

He glares at her for a moment, anger radiating from his eyes as he clenches his jaw and purses his lips. A terrorist attack, he thinks grimly and turns towards the door, leaving the room to instruct his team.

“The number she gave is registered to an Edward Flueling, aged 41,” Calum says as he approaches. “I'll get an address.”

Harry begins issuing orders, “Dimitri and Erin, you go to Flueling's residence. Calum will give you everything he's got en route. Ruth, get Tariq to run a background check on him and pull CCTV from around his flat. See if we can identify any of his recent visitors. I need to speak to the Home Secretary and then, Ruth, I want you in here with me.”

Everyone scurries off to do his bidding as he slides his phone out of his pocket and informs the Home Secretary about the possible attack. Then he turns to Ruth, saying, “I want her to think she has the upper hand, that she's in control of the situation. It's the quickest way we'll get her to talk.” Ruth nods her understanding, and they return to the interrogation room together.


	43. Chapter 43

_Same day, 14th December, 4 pm_

 

“Have you found him? The go-between?” Elena asks as they enter the room. She's sitting on one of the wooden chairs, looking composed and at ease.

“We have an address,” Harry replies. “My team are on their way.” He waits a moment working out the best strategy before saying, “Elena, we need to know everything.” Thinking back to their last conversation about Ilia, he adds, “You've been protecting the person behind the attacks on the partnership and I understand why, but it has to stop now. It wasn't Jim, was it?”

She looks at him defiantly for a moment and then says, “It was me, Harry.” He manages to look surprised as she continues, “Ilia wants this deal; he always has. I know the details of the attacks because I ordered them.”

“How? Why?” he asks in mock astonishment.

“Have you ever told anyone the truth about how you recruited me?” she enquires calmly.

He feels fear run through him momentarily before he manages to control it. Ruth will forgive him; he's sure of it now after everything they've been through in the last two weeks. “You know?” he asks.

“Yes,” Elena replies and looks at Ruth. “I can see from your face that he hasn't. Too ashamed?”

“Yes,” he sighs and sits down across from her.

“What has this got to do with the attack, Elena?” Ruth asks in a firm voice.

“Harry and I were in love,” she says, ignoring the question, “or at least, we thought we were. But Harry had to choose between being a good man or a good spy. My parents were killed in a car accident, but Harry and Jim forged a KGB case file showing that they had been wrongly arrested, tortured, murdered. He used that lie to turn me. He asked me to spy on my country, my husband, to risk my life everyday, to risk the safety of his own son. It was the making of him.” Harry's eyes flash in anger as she lies yet again about the boy, and he instantly feels his sense of shame disappear. She isn't a civilian that he's used. She's a spy. He's sure of it now. “Do you see him differently now?” Elena asks Ruth and he holds his breath, keeping his eyes downcast.

“Yes,” Ruth murmurs after a beat. “I see he's given more than I'd thought possible.”

Relief sweeps through him, but outwardly he doesn't react. He sits motionless for a moment thinking of the best tactic to use to break her.

“How did you find out I'd lied to you?” Harry asks as he gets up and approaches Elena.

“I didn't find out,” she replies. “I always knew. I was a spy before you met me. You were not recruiting me; I was recruiting you.”

When he hears her confirm it like that, with perfect composure as always, he feels the pain anew and he closes his eyes momentarily as he exhales and turns away. It takes only a moment for the pain to subside and be replaced by relief and then anger, anger at her for the lies she'd told him, but mostly, anger at himself for allowing her to dupe him so easily with the oldest trick in the book.

“Poor, sweet Harry,” Elena says, snapping him out of his momentary indulgence in self-recrimination. “I was recruited by a group of men within the KGB who handled unofficial operations. They knew that you were planning to turn me, so they asked me to sleep with you, to pretend to be your loyal agent, your lover. That part was not hard. The night you told me the lie about my parents, my handlers had warned me what to expect. I was desperate for you not to tell me. My feelings for you were real. I wanted you to prove everyone wrong... For a moment, I wanted to tell you the truth. I tried to call, but you weren't there... From that moment on, I was a double agent.” She stands up and adds decisively, “They were right; they were the only ones I could trust.”

“It's impossible,” Harry replies shaking his head in mock disbelief. “You gave me good intel for years.”

“Some... to gain your confidence,” she admits. “The long term plan was to use you to channel disinformation to the West, and eventually, to turn you. But you were too decent; you burned me. So then I was to pretend to defect, become a plant, but Jim Coaver stopped you.”

“And Ilia knew all this?” Ruth can't help asking as she steps forward.

“He knew nothing,” she replies. “I was recruited two weeks after we were married. He was never told.”

“Ilia did know,” Harry says, taking control of the interrogation once more and giving Elena a look of pure contempt. “He found out you'd been spying for me, but he forgave you; he kept quiet for the sake of your family.”

She seems momentarily thrown by this revelation, but she manages to keep her composure as she replies, “He's a good man.”

He stares at her for a moment as he works out his next move. Having her believe that she's in control of the situation seems to be working well.

“Ask me, Harry,” she smiles, pleased with his apparent discomposure. “Be brave.”

He hesitates for a moment, looking angry and hurt, before he murmurs, “Is Sasha my son?”

She pauses for several seconds before saying, “No. He's Ilia's.”

“It was a lie designed to bond me to you,” he grinds out as he approaches her, “to compromise me. You let me believe for almost thirty years that he was my son.”

“What about your lie?” she demands, as for the first time, she loses her composure. “You told me my parents were tortured, died in fear and pain, shot in the head like dogs.” Then regaining her self-control, she adds, “The only difference is my lie was believed.”

Harry turns away again, disgusted by it all, her, the lies, the secrets, the death, the destruction, and he's suddenly immensely grateful that this will be the last time, that he's leaving.

“So why tell us about this attack?” Ruth asks quietly.

“That's it, Ruth,” she replies looking smug. “Back to the matter in hand. Your speciality: analysis, intelligence, but not so good with people.”

Ruth maintains her composure with difficulty and her hands just itch to slap the woman for her arrogance. Only the satisfaction of knowing that they've lulled her into a false sense of security keeps her from lashing out.

“I would like some water, please,” Elena says.

Ruth holds her gaze for a moment before replying, “Maybe later.” Elena's eyes widen a little in surprise. “First tell us everything you know about this attack. Who ordered it?”

“The group who recruited me has grown over the years,” Elena explains. “They're not just intelligence officers now. They are business people, politicians united by patriotism, nationalism you would call it. They believe Russia is becoming too weak. They could not allow the partnership between our countries; it humiliates Russia. I agree with them. I have first hand experience of western hypocrisy.”

Harry studies her for a moment, realising for the first time that perhaps Elena had loved him more that he'd loved her and had been really hurt by what she'd perceived as his betrayal. Then again, he reminds himself, she's a double agent. A better spy than he in the end, and if she has no qualms in using him and Sasha in the way that she has, then her love isn't worth much, and when compared to Ruth's love, it's worth nothing at all.

Elena continues, “They would rather open conflict than this deal. So, they launch an attack so destructive, that the partnership is irrelevant.”

“You've killed people before, why the sudden attack of conscience?” Harry asks.

“I will not sacrifice innocent lives,” she replies. “I'm not a terrorist. We all have a line we can't cross. Don't we, Harry?”

He studies her for a moment, searching her face for any clue that she's lying.

“I am at mine,” she adds.

Moments pass in silence as the two spies study each other intently, but their interrupted by Calum, who comes to the door to relay the information from Erin and Dimitri. Harry asks Calum to bring the laptop into the room to show Elena, and she immediately recognises the man in the photo.

“Oh my God,” she whispers. “Pavel Zycov, former Spetsnaz. One of the most dedicated agents they have. Harry, they've been saving him for a suicide mission.”

“We've got a file on Zycov,” Calum informs them. “He was sighted at a café this morning in Moscow... at Domodedovo airport.”

“Did he board a flight?” Ruth asks quickly as Calum turns back to his computer.

“Elena,” Harry murmurs, “you know these people. What kind of attack will it be? Bomb? Hijack?”

“They want a spectacular, something that will ruin relations between us for years,” she explains.

“He's on board Russian air flight 474 heading to Heathrow,” Calum says. “Air traffic control states that they failed to respond to a routine status request... ten minutes ago.”

Harry motions with his eyes towards the door and the three spooks exit the room.

“She's not telling us everything,” Ruth declares once they're outside.

“I know,” Harry nods. “I need to inform the Home Secretary. If this is a legitimate threat, we have about nine minutes before the plane is over British soil.”

He turns away and pulls out his phone to call Towers.

“Harry,” Towers answers.

“Home Secretary,” Harry replies briskly. “There is a Russian, ultra-nationalist terrorist on board flight 474 from Moscow inbound to Heathrow. According to our source, they plan to bring the plane down over London.”

“God help us,” Towers mutters. “I'll call the PM.”

“There's no time,” Harry replies. “The flight has failed to respond to a routine contact. The terrorist may already have control.”

“What do you want me to do? Shoot down a passenger jet?”

“We have nine minutes before the plane is over the mainland after which shooting it down is no longer an option,” Harry replies.

“Harry, you'd better be more certain of this that anything you've ever told me,” Towers states. “That plane is full of civilians.”

“312, mostly Russians and Brits,” Harry replies. “If the plane crashes in central London they'll be thousands more. We should scramble interceptors now so that we have the option to shoot it down, should their intentions be confirmed. I will call you back in eight minutes.”

Harry ends the call and looks at Ruth. “Tell me,” he invites.

“She was going to move here with Sasha,” Ruth frowns. “She was going to use her son as an asset, to bring him up in the lie that you were his father, to let him grow up _British_. She put the interests of her country before those of her son, Harry... That makes her a fanatic.”

“Yes,” he agrees.

Ruth takes her phone out of her pocket and calls Erin, putting the call on speaker.

“Ruth,” Erin answers.

“Are you still at the scene?” she asks.

“Yes. What is it?”

“I want to be sure we're seeing everything. Is there anything that's not right?”

“Dee, we're searching for things that aren't right,” Erin says as she looks around once more. “Ruth, what are we looking for?”

“I just want to know why I feel like I'm in an audience,” Ruth explains.

There's a short pause while they scan the room, thinking, and then Erin says, “Zycov's picture. We were lucky to find it.”

There are some noises in the background and then they hear Dimitri say, “Jammed, deliberately.”

“Someone wanted us to find that photo,” Erin confirms.

“Thanks,” Ruth replies and ends the call. Then she says to Harry, “She wants us to shoot down that plane.”

Harry nods. “Agreed. They want open conflict between Britain and Russia and it's far better for them if we start it.” he confirms. He pulls his phone out of his pocket again and calls the Home Secretary.

“Confirmation?” Towers asks.

“Our asset, Elena Gavrik, has been manipulating us,” Harry replies. “There are no plans to bring a plane down.”

“Christ, Harry. You've just told me we can't risk letting that aircraft reach the mainland. Interceptors are making contact in 60 seconds.”

“They're trying to force us to do it for them,” Harry explains. “We have to abort the strike.”

“It's not that simple, Harry. The plane's in cloud cover, the fighters can't get a visual with the cockpit, and they're still not responding.”

“Zykov, their man on board... interfering with communications. It's not a bomb, it's a jammer.”

“That may well be, but we have a non-responsive aircraft in our air space. We can't let it get over London.”

“The intel is good,” he insists, but he can feel the Home Secretary dithering, unable to make a choice one way or the other. “Home Secretary,” he says firmly, “William, I will stake everything I have on this decision. My job, my reputation, my family, my freedom. _Do not_ shoot down that plane.”

“Very well, Harry. On your head be it,” Towers replies and Harry hears him order the fighter jets to abort before he puts down the phone.

As if on cue, Erin and Dimitri step into the room. “When the plane lands, have a team standing by to take Zycov,” Harry tells his Section Chief, who's just received an update from Calum. “Ruth,” he addresses his wife next, “I need you in here with me.”

They move towards the holding cell together, but before they enter, Harry's phone rings. “Yes,” he answer.

“Just a heads-up; we have Duran,” Jim Coaver replies.

“Thanks,” Harry smiles.

“Tell your wife I'm still waiting for her call,” Jim says lightly. “She hasn't bailed on me, has she?”

“I'll remind her,” Harry chuckles and hangs up. Then he turns to Ruth and says, “ _This_ is the fun part,” before they enter the room together.

“What happened?” Elena asks worriedly.

“You failed,” Harry smiles, causing her to look momentarily alarmed. “I have a team standing by to arrest Pavel Zycov the moment the plane touches down at Heathrow, and with the information we will get from you and Veronica Duran, who I am told is now in Jim Coaver's custody, I'm sure it won't be long before the rest of your pernicious co-conspirators are also behind bars.”

Elena blanches, much to the satisfaction of both other occupants of the room. “How did you know?” she asks eventually.

“You overplayed your hand, Elena. You got careless,” Harry replies. “The attempted hit on you by Veronica Duran was a little too perfectly orchestrated.” He turns towards Ruth and smiles. “And even though I failed to see it immediately, I'm blessed with a brilliant wife, who was able to put two and two together. I also found out three days ago that Sasha was not my son, thanks to DNA testing. I already knew you had lied to me and had been manipulating me for the last thirty years. The rest of the information came from you.”

Elena seems to deflate before their eyes and she suddenly looks old and frail, defeated.

“Under the new agreement we have with Russia,” Harry continues, “we will be required to share the transcripts of this interrogation with the FSB, however, if you cooperate with us fully, Elena, I will make sure that the transcripts are edited before they reach them.”

Elena nods mutely and stares at the wall in front of her, unseeing.

“You really would have let those people die?” Ruth asks quietly after a moment.

Elena's silent for a long time before she answers, “Yes.”


	44. Chapter 44

_Next day, 15th December, 10 pm_

 

Harry walks through the pods, scanning the Grid quickly for his team. None of them are here and he's glad; they deserve an early night after the last couple of weeks. Only two or three junior officers are about, and it looks like they're getting ready to head home too. He pauses in his walk and looks around more carefully, realising that tonight's the last night he'll be here, the place where he's spent most of the last seventeen years. His thoughts drift back to events from the past, skipping from memory to memory of days and nights spent on the Grid, remembering the defeats but dwelling on the victories, and especially the moments spent with Ruth.

He smiles as he recalls the nights when Ruth had kept him company, bent over her work at her station with her desk lamp on, illuminating her beautiful face. The covert and furtive looks they'd exchanged, each trying to watch the other without getting caught, and the quick glances away when their eyes inevitably met. Their increasingly frequent tea and coffee breaks that were taken, quite deliberately, at the same time, though neither would ever have admitted to that. He wishes suddenly that, just for tonight, Ruth could have been here to share one last look across the Grid, one last conversation as they made tea together. Tomorrow, he'll hand over the reigns to Erin, and they'll probably all go out for a drink to celebrate his retirement. This is his last night on the Grid.

He sighs and turns towards his office, opening the door and shrugging out of his coat before hanging in it up. His desk lamp's on, just as he'd left it before he'd gone to see the Home Secretary. In its soft light, he walks across the room, aiming for his decanter in the corner, but he doesn't get very far before the door behind him slides shut and he hears the lock click into place. He spins round to face the intruder, and he swears that his heart stops.

Ruth is standing before him, wearing nothing but the extra shirt he keeps in his desk drawer for emergencies. He opens and closes his mouth twice as he struggles to find his voice while his eyes sweep over her from head to toe and back, coming to a rest on her dark, sapphire blue eyes. She takes a few steps forward, swaying her hips as she moves towards him and causing his eyes to almost pop out of his head and his breathing to become shallow. She pauses in front of him and reaches towards him, picking up his tie and sliding it slowly through her fingers.

He clears his throat and opens his mouth to speak, but she shakes her head gently and presses a finger to her lips. He understands and nods once as he swallows in an effort to moisten his suddenly dry mouth and throat. Then he watches as she lifts her other hand to his tie and begins to tug gently against the fabric, pulling his upper body forward, towards her. He leans in and lets his feet follow the motion of his torso until he's standing so close that their bodies are almost touching. He can feel her hot breath against his lips as he hovers before her, savouring the tension, the anticipation, the electricity crackling between them. Once they touch, he knows that they'll ignite and combust. There will be no holding back tonight. He'll be inside her within seconds and she'll be ready for him.

Her fingers slip up to his collar and begin to unfasten his tie, sliding the thin silk fabric from around his neck and throwing it over the back of a chair. Next her hands move down to his buckle, unfastening it slowly and pulling his belt free from his trousers before it joins his tie on the chair. All this she accomplishes without touching his skin once, and he feels compelled to see if he can do the same as his hands reach up to unbutton the shirt she's wearing. Gently he pulls the fabric forward, away from her skin as he begins to release the buttons, beginning at the bottom and working his way up. He keeps his gaze resolutely on his hands, not letting it stray to her beautiful, cream coloured skin until the last button opens and he lets go of the fabric, letting it fall to the sides, revealing her beautiful form. She's wearing nothing. No bra, no knickers, just his shirt. Oh dear God, is she trying to kill him?

His breathing's rugged now, coming in harsh pants and she smiles, pleased that she's put so much thought into this, their last night together on the Grid. She watches as he takes a step back and impatiently begins to tug his own clothes off, slipping his cuff-links into his pocket, rapidly unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt and pulling it off over his head, followed by his vest, shoes, trousers and socks, until he's standing before her in just his underwear. She raises an eyebrow at him and he gets the hint, pulling his trunks off as she pushes his shirt off her shoulders and it falls to the floor.

One, two, three seconds pass as they watch and wait, letting the tension build once more to unprecedented heights. She parts her lips and lets the tip of her tongue slide out to moisten her dry lips as she drops her gaze to his hardened length, and it's too much for Harry. He moves forward suddenly, his hands gripping her waist and lifting her up off the floor, his lips colliding with hers as she clings to his shoulders, his legs propelling her backward until he pushes her into the wall, pinning her against it as her legs wrap around his waist, and he presses into her slick heat, hard and fast. She moans into his mouth as he pushes into her again and again, and she slides her hands through his hair, across his shoulders, her lips pressing fiery kisses to his neck before her tongue slides into his ear, making him groan.

He wants to see her, to touch and kiss her breasts, so he pulls away from the wall and staggers over to his desk, noting with satisfaction that Ruth's already cleared it of everything but his computer monitor and desk lamp. It's the perfect height, he realises with pleasure as he lowers her onto its surface and pulls back to look at her. She's magnificent, he decides as he traces her beautiful body with his eyes and leans over her, taking one of her nipples in his mouth and sucking on it hard, causing her to arch her back towards him and moan, her hands slipping into his hair and pulling him down towards her. He licks, sucks and squeezes her breasts and nipples, stilling the motion of his pelvis and delighting in the feel of her clenching and unclenching her inner muscles around his length.

He contracts his pelvic floor muscles and hears her gasp of pleasure as his cock jerks inside her. Then lifting his head to see her face, he does it again, delighting in the sharp sounds that escape her throat every time. Slowly he pulls all the way out of her, pausing at her entrance for a moment before sliding back in, filling her to the hilt and making them both groan. It feels so good that he does it again and again. She unfolds her legs, bringing them up to rest against his chest, her feet over his shoulders, and he slides his hands to her thighs as he increases the tempo until he's fucking her hard with complete abandon. Their breaths are coming in harsh pants now and they hold each other's gazes, not wanting to miss any part of this, the fantasy they've both had for so long. They're screwing on Harry's desk, in Harry's office, inside Thames House. Just the thought's enough to almost send him over the edge.

He releases her legs and pulls out of her, making her whimper slightly in protest. He smiles and pulls her up onto her feet, before using his hands to gently guide her to turn around and lean over the desk. She understands what he wants and lies down, supporting her weight on her forearms as she presents herself to him, wiggling her bottom seductively. He almost loses it then, but he forces himself to reign in his passion and take the time to caress her skin, running his fingers all along her back and over her buttocks before he slides inside her again, causing them both to groan more loudly than they probably should. The Grid had been empty when they'd started this, but it's very likely that someone might come back at any moment and hear them. However, this is by far their favourite position and they find they're unable to control their initial reaction when they came together. Harry isn't sure if it's some male domination thing, but he loves to fuck her like this and it seems to stimulate her more, brushing against more sensitive areas inside her.

Slowly he pulls all the way out before pressing back in, repeating the motion over and over again as he steadily increases the pace. He watches as the tell tale flush spreads across her skin, across her shoulders and back, and he knows that she's almost there now. He leans over her more, wrapping his arms around hers, pressing his belly to her back, and changing the angle of his thrusts, and she brakes almost immediately, pressing her mouth against his arm to muffle the cry of her release. He slows his tempo to delay his own orgasm, wanting this experience to last, wanting her to come again. Then nibbling on the back of her neck for a moment, he stops moving altogether, remaining completely still and delighting in the feel of her squeezing him tightly inside her.

He doesn't pause for long before he resumes his motion, sliding in and out of her in ever increasing speed until he feels her come again, her muscles rippling around him as she bites down on her arm to stop herself from crying out at the intensity of her orgasm. This time he lets himself go, leaning over her and pressing his face into her neck as he groans his release and she feels him thrust into her hard, accepting his warm seed deep inside her.

Minutes pass and their breathing and heart rates slow as they remain spooned together, Ruth lying on the desk with Harry on top of her, holding his weight on his forearms, his face pressed into her neck. They fit perfectly together like this, she thinks happily as she rests her forehead on her folded arms. They're still coupled but any slight movement will almost certainly cause him to slide out. So they don't move, they don't speak, they don't need to.

She smells so good... of Ruth, and love, and sex, and of him. It's his favourite smell in the world; their scents mingled together on her skin. He presses a kiss to her neck and feels her smile as she hums softly in satisfaction. She lifts her head and he takes the hint, pulling slowly away from her and feeling the cool air slip between them, making him suddenly feel cold. He stands up and helps her do the same, turning her to face him, pulling her into his embrace, and kissing the top of her head. She wraps her arms around him, feeling his damp skin rest against hers and the last of his semen slip down between her legs. She used to hate that feeling, she thinks absently, but not any more. It's simply wonderful to have part of Harry inside her; Harry's different to all the rest of them. Harry's hers and she's his, body and soul. He's special and his semen a gift of love for her.

There's silence all around them. The Grid's completely empty except for the two of them. He pulls back a little to look at her, smiling softly down at her as she looks up into his eyes. She shivers a little and he frowns in concern, releasing her and looking around for her clothes. He doesn't find them, however, so he picks up his shirt that she'd been wearing earlier and drapes it around her shoulders. She raises her eyebrows at him and he smiles. She can't really go past security dressed like this. He opens his mouth to speak, but again she shakes her head and presses her finger to his lips. He nods and leans forward pressing a kiss against her lips before releasing her. She smiles and moves round his desk, pulling back his office chair and retrieving her clothes from the seat. She winks at him, making him smile once more before he bends over to pick up his own clothes from the floor and they begin to get dressed.

They don't speak until they arrive home. They walk up the front walk side by side and stop in front of the door while Harry pulls out his keys and moves to unlock it. He pauses in the act, however, and turns back towards Ruth, smiling softly as she reaches his gloved hand up to touch her face.

“I love you,” he murmurs, wanting to express what he's feeling now before they enter the house, and Fiona or Jamie or Graham spoil the moment.

“I love you more,” she whispers back.

“Thank you,” he smiles and leans down to press a kiss to her lips.

“It was better than any of my fantasies, Harry,” she replies, “and the best sex I've ever had. Thank _you_.”

“It's my pleasure, Ruth,” he murmurs huskily. “I look forward to making it even better next time.”

“Oh, no,” she objects. “Next time is my turn to make it the best _you've_ ever had.”

“Every time is the best, Ruth,” he replies seriously. “Every time with you is better than the last.”

She sighs and pulls his head down for a deep, satisfying snog. “You're _such_ a romantic man, Harry,” she murmurs when they pull apart. “I've definitely hit the jack-pot... Now, can we go inside? Because as romantic as this is, I'm freezing my tits off here.”

He laughs, a deep, warm sound that she doesn't hear very often and she secretly vows to make him laugh more often. Tomorrow's their last day at the Grid, Elena Gavrik is safely on her way back to Moscow in FSB custody along with a partial transcript of her interrogation at the bunker, and Ilia and Sasha Gavrik are flying back with Elena. Unbeknown to Harry, Ruth provided the full recording of Elena's interrogation to Ilia after he'd asked her for it, assuring her that it was for his personal use and would be destroyed before anyone else could hear it. She feels that he deserves to know the whole truth, knowing that he, like Harry, has managed to salvage something of himself and attempt to do some good to make amends for all the death and destruction he'd caused during the cold war. So now that the Gavriks are out of the picture and Harry will retire for good, there will be time to laugh. As Harry opens the door and they enter the house, she wonders if Harry's ticklish. Surprised that she hasn't thought of it before, she decides to find out and soon.


	45. Chapter 45

 

_Next day, 16th December, 6 am_

 

“Morning, Dad,” Graham smiles as he enters the kitchen.

“Good morning, Son,” Harry replies, turning to look at him. “Sleep well?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Coffee?”

“Please,” he answers as he moves further into the room. “Do you have any Coco-pops?”

Harry raises his eyebrows in surprise and smiles. “I have absolutely no idea,” he confesses. “Try the cupboard down there.”

Graham turns to look in the cabinet he indicates, one he's never opened before, and calls out triumphantly, “You do!”

“You'd better check the expiry date,” Harry replies dryly. “For all I know, they might have been there since the last time you stayed in my house overnight, sometime during the last ice age.”

“Come off it, Dad,” Graham grins. “I'm not _that_ old.”

Harry's lips curl up into a smile as he replies, “And I suppose I am?”

“Well...” Graham chuckles, “perhaps not. The middle ages is probably more like it, _Sir Harry.”_

“Christ! Not you too,” Harry sighs and turns back to pouring the coffee into mugs. “The bloody thing's more trouble than it's worth.”

“Oh, it's worth something?” Graham teases as he pauses in the act of pouring his Coco-pops into a bowl, having ascertained that they are, in fact, well within their sell by date. “I'd never have pegged you as someone who'd give much value to titles, Dad.”

Harry turns to look at him, raising one eyebrow at him and pursing his lips together before he replies carefully, “I'm not, but... in certain situations with certain people, it can be useful.”

“Like getting women into bed?” Graham asks without thinking. It takes a second for them both to realise what has just been said. Graham blushes profusely and lowers his eyes as he clears his throat and murmurs, “I'm sorry, Dad. That was out of line. I didn't mean to imply anything by it. I know you and Ruth are very hap-”

“Think nothing of it,” Harry interrupts as he turns to put the kettle on for Ruth's tea. “I dare say I deserved that for what I put you, your sister, and your mother through before.” He turns to face Graham once more and adds, “I truly am sorry, Graham... for all of it.”

Graham's silent for a moment before he replies, “Apology accepted, Dad... I have come to realise, over the past few weeks, that I have, very unfairly, been blaming you for almost everything that has gone wrong in my life and taking very little responsibility for my own poor choices and actions... And I have also come to recognise that, though you would never win any 'Father of the Year' awards, you did try to do right by me and Catherine, and that we, Mum, Catherine, and I, are partly responsible for pushing you away and making it almost impossible for you to stay close once you and Mum split up. I don't blame you for giving up on us any more. I may wish that you hadn't, but I can't blame you for it. As for the rest, it's really none of my business. It's between you and Mum... When I see you with Ruth, I realise that you and Mum didn't have what it takes to make things work, to stay together... I'm glad you're happy, Dad... and a little jealous of Fiona for having parents who love each other to bits.” He smiles and adds, “Thank you for giving me the chance to get to know you and your family, and for being so ready to forgive my appalling behaviour towards you, and especially, for keeping Jamie away from you. I regret that now, more than you could possibly imagine.”

Harry has tears in his eyes by the end of Graham's speech. He blinks rapidly and clears his throat, turning to pour the water into Ruth's mug before saying, “You're part of my family too, Graham... you and Jamie. You're always welcome here at any time, and you can count on me and Ruth to help you in any way we can.”

Ruth's standing outside the door to the kitchen, listening to their conversation with a mixture of joy and relief, grateful that Harry and Graham seemed to have come to some resolution about their past, and that they're both ready to let bygones be bygones and move forward. After she'd come downstairs and paused to pick up the mail, she'd overheard Graham's speech, and not wanting to interrupt it, she'd waited in the hall until she'd judged their tête-à-tête to be over. Now she steps into the room and wishes them both good morning, smiling at Graham and approaching Harry to kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” she smiles as she takes her tea from his hand and takes a sip. “I see you've discovered the Coco-pops,” she says to Graham.

He nods and picks up his bowl and mug, taking them over to the table as he says, “Yes, I hope you don't mind.”

“Not at all,” Ruth replies. “I used to eat them for breakfast every morning until I discovered that the chocolate bothered Fiona.” She sighs.

“Hard luck,” Graham says sympathetically. “Perhaps she'll out grow it.”

“I hope she either does so soon or not at all,” Ruth smiles. “If I can't enjoy chocolate while she's nursing, then I certainly don't want to have to share it with her once she's weaned.”

Harry and Graham laugh and the latter asks, “What about Dad? Don't you have to share with him?”

Harry shakes his head. “I've never really liked chocolate. Cake and biscuits now, I love, but not chocolate.”

“Maybe that's where Jamie gets his aversion to chocolate from,” Graham says thoughtfully before pouring milk on his cereal and beginning to eat.

Ruth doesn't miss the smile on Harry's lips as he turns back to buttering their toast.

“So what are your plans now that you'll be out of a job again tomorrow, Graham?” she asks as she sits down opposite him with her tea.

Harry brings her toast to the table and then returns with his own plate and mug, taking a seat as Graham replies, “I was thinking of taking some time off. Jamie's usual child-minder has no place for him at the moment, and as we'll be moving out of London soon, I thought I might take some time to do a little house hunting in Ipswich. I have enough to tide us over until I begin work in January, thanks to you.”

“Oh, you've earned every bit of it. I can't tell you how grateful I've been to not have to worry about Fiona over the last two weeks. On top of everything else that's been going on, if we hadn't had you to take care for her, I think I'd have gone off my rocker.” Harry reaches over and squeezes her hand, and she turns to him and gives him a soft smile before looking back at Graham and adding, “If you need any free time, we'd be very happy to watch Jamie for you, Graham.”

“Thank you, Ruth,” he replies, “but I wouldn't want to impose.”

“Nonsense,” Ruth objects. “What are grandparents for? We'd absolutely _love_ to have him, wouldn't we, Harry?”

“Indeed,” Harry nods. “I'd like to have the chance to spend more than a few minutes with him, Graham. You'd be doing us a favour. Call it an early Christmas present.”

“Speaking of Christmas,” Ruth adds, “we'd like to have a Christmas celebration here with you, Jamie, Catherine, and Richard. Do you have any free time on Christmas day or Boxing day?”

“Well,” Graham replies, “Mum usually has Christmas lunch at her house, but we could come for Christmas tea or dinner.”

“Okay,” Ruth agrees. “Shall we say four o'clock on Christmas day?”

Graham nods. “We'll be here.”

“And there's no need for presents,” Ruth adds. “Just having you and Jamie here will be enough.”

Graham smiles. “I'll bring the drinks then,” he offers.

“No, really,” Ruth insists. “You'll bring yourself and Jamie, and that's all.”

“But, Ruth-” Graham begins to object but he's interrupted by Harry.

“But nothing, Son,” he frowns. “Do you have any idea how much joy it will bring me to have my son and grandson with me for Christmas? I don't even remember the last time I spent Christmas with you, Graham.”

He smiles and nods, “Me too, Dad, me too.”

“Good, that's settled then,” Ruth smiles and begins to eat her breakfast, knowing that she doesn't have a lot of time before her daughter will want her milk. She's just managed to take her last mouthful of toast before Fiona wakes up and she has to go upstairs.

Harry gets up to wash the dishes and Graham offers to help dry and put away. Half way through their task, however, Jamie calls from the top of the stairs and Graham has to go get him. Ruth has already installed a gate at each end of the staircase, so Jamie can't get down without help.

Stepping over the gate with his long legs, Graham bounds up the stairs to his son. “Good morning, Jamie,” he smiles. “How did you get out of bed?”

“Ooff,” Jamie replies and lifts his hands towards him. “Up, Dada, up.”

“Up you come then,” Graham smiles and lifts him into his arms. Jamie slides his little hands round his neck and hugs him tightly. He's such an affectionate little fellow. “Let's go say good morning to Grandpa.”

“Ganpa,” Jamie grins and laughs loudly as Graham runs down the stairs, jiggling Jamie as he moves.

Once over the gate at the bottom, Graham puts Jamie down and the little boy toddles towards the kitchen calling out, “Ganpa,” as he goes.

Harry puts down the tea towel he's holding and turns towards the sound, smiling. “Good morning, Jamie,” he says as he crouches down and waits for him to approach. “Did you sleep well?”

“Es,” Jamie replies solemnly, just like he's seen his father do many times. Then he grins and stretches up his arms. “Up, Ganpa, up.”

“Come on then,” Harry smiles and picks him up, straightening his legs with some difficulty and then swinging his grandson up high. “Goodness you're heavy, Jamie. You must have grown last night.” Jamie laughs and Harry continues, “You know, Daddy used to love going up too, Jamie. His favourite place in the whole world was on my shoulders when he was your age.”

“Up,” Jamie repeats.

“All right. Let's get you up then,” Harry smiles and moves him carefully onto his shoulders, gripping his little feet securely with his hands when he's settled. “Now you're taller than Daddy,” he smiles.

“Dada, up!” Jamie exclaims.

“I see you, Jamie,” Graham smiles, putting the knife he's using to cut the toast down and turning to look at him. “You're high up.”

Just then, Ruth walks into the kitchen carrying Fiona. She smiles at Jamie and says, “Look at you! You're so high up, Jamie.”

“Ona up?” Jamie asks.

“Not yet, Jamie,” Ruth smiles. “She's too little. In a little while, she'll go up too.”

“Yeah,” Graham grins, “and then you'll have to share Grandpa's shoulders. Enjoy it while it lasts, Jamie.”

Harry laughs and murmurs, “You'll have to help out then, Graham.”

“I'd be happy to,” he smiles as he puts Jamie's breakfast on the table, “if they let me. Jamie already prefers your shoulders to mine. Every time I put him on my shoulders he asks for Ganpa.”

“It's probably the extra padding,” Ruth smiles. “Your father does have broader shoulders, Graham. Yours are probably just too bony.”

“Yeah,” Graham sighs, “it's that or the lack of hair to tickle his face.”

“You can say what you like,” Harry replies with a shrug and then adds smugly, “I'm just happy he likes to sit on my shoulders.”

Ruth smiles and then says reluctantly, “We should get going, Harry.”

“You're right,” Harry sighs as he glances at the clock. “Come on, Jamie. Down you come. Let's see what Daddy's made for breakfast.”

“Here,” Graham says and steps behind Harry, reaching for his son and pulling him gently off his grandfather. “Come on, Jamie. It's solders today.”

“Odjers!” Jamie exclaims and sits happily in the high chair.

Ruth slides Fiona into her sling, sits down next to Jamie, and begins to help him eat, saying, “You two get ready while I help Jamie.”

“Thanks, Ruth,” Graham replies gratefully and darts up the stairs to have a quick shower and shave before he takes over his babysitting duties.

Harry follows him up slowly, going into the bathroom to shave and brush his teeth. He comes back downstairs first and walks back into the kitchen. Ruth's still sitting by Jamie, who's lost interest in his food, and she's trying to cajole him into eating a bit more by pretending that the spoon's a train that needs to go into the tunnel, Jamie's mouth. Harry smiles as he watches from the doorway for a few moments. Then noticing that Fiona's no longer content sitting in her sling, he steps into the room and takes his daughter into his arms, placing her with her back against his chest and jiggling her around, humming to her softly as she watches her nephew eat his food.

“Ona eat,” Jamie says and refuses to open his mouth again.

“Fiona is too little,” Ruth replies patiently. “She just drinks milk.”

“Ona eat,” Jamie insists.

“She has no teeth,” Harry says. “Do you have teeth, Jamie?”

“Es,” he says and opens his mouth wide.

“Goodness, what a lot!” Harry exclaims. “They must be very good for eating. Show Grandpa how you eat your egg.” Jamie obliges by taking another mouthful of egg and chewing on it happily. “Look, Fiona,” Harry murmurs. “Look how Jamie can eat all his food with his shiny, white teeth.”

By the time Graham comes downstairs, Jamie has finished his breakfast and is playing happily with Ruth, Harry, and Fiona in the sitting room. He pauses in the doorway to watch, contemplating how much happier they all seem. He can see the change in his son very clearly, seeing as he knows him so well, but even Fiona, Ruth, and most of all, his father look happier than they did on the first day he'd arrived here. Being together is healing everyone, even himself, he has to acknowledge, and he vows not to let circumstances get in the way again and pull them apart. He will make time to come and see his father, Ruth, his mother, and sisters. He needs his extended family and so does his son; Jamie's thriving on the extra love and attention.


	46. Chapter 46

_Same day, 16th December, 11 am_

 

“Harry,” Ruth says worriedly as she walks into his office without knocking.

He looks up from his screen and murmurs, “Yes?”

Ruth pauses in front of his desk and looks at him uncertainly for a moment before saying quietly, “Elena Gavrik was found dead this morning in her holding cell.”

Harry looks momentarily saddened by this news, before he regains his composure and asks, “Do we know what happened?”

“It looks like a suicide,” Ruth replies.

“But?” he asks gently, seeing the anxiety in her eyes. She brings her hand up to her face for a moment as she lowers her gaze, and it causes Harry to get up and move round his desk in concern, coming to a stop beside her. Gently he reaches out his hand to touch her elbow and asks, “What is it, Ruth?”

“I think it was Ilia,” she whispers. “He was the last person to visit her and... I gave him the full interrogation recordings.”

Harry's momentarily stunned by this revelation, but he recovers quickly and replies, “Ruth, it was only a matter of time before the FSB extracted the same information from her that we did. It's not your fault. If Ilia did indeed kill her, or persuade her to take her own life, it's not your fault. He was a ruthless bastard in the old days, and given the depth of her betrayal, it was hardly something he would have let slide. I'm not sure I would have been able to either, had our roles been reversed.” He sighs and watches Ruth nod, before he reaches for her and pulls her into his embrace. “None of this whole, sorry mess is your fault, Ruth. It's my doing, not yours, mine and the Gavriks'. And I can't help but be grateful that I had you to show me what was really going on, or it might have been me lying dead right now, instead of Elena.”

Ruth nods into his shoulder and pulls him tightly against her as the guilt she'd felt a moment ago subsides a little to be replaced by relief that she still has Harry. He's right. Of the three of them, Elena Gavrik's the one that deserved to die the most. Harry and Ilia had been cold, calculating, ruthless bastards when required, but they'd never been double agents and never put their beliefs above all else, even their families and children. “I love you,” she murmurs against his chest.

“I love you more,” he replies.

She smiles, squeezes him once more, and steps back; they're at work after all. “I'd better get back to work.”

He nods and replies, “Erin and I have to see the Home Secretary.” He pauses for a moment and then adds, “At least, if Ilia Gavrik is behind this, Ruth, we can be certain that he will take care of Michail Levrov and the rest of his co-conspirators as well.”

 

 

_Same day, 16th December, 10 pm_

 

“Good evening, Sir Harry,” Mike smiles as he holds the door for his boss.

“Good evening, Mike,” Harry replies. “Looks like this time it really is the last time you'll be driving me.”

“Absolutely,” Ruth says firmly. “No more reinstatements for you, Sir Harry. This time your retirement is permanent.”

Harry and Mike chuckle and the latter says, “You can't argue with the missus, Sir.”

“Not when she's in that mood, no,” Harry concedes.

Ruth glares at him and Mike hastens to change the subject by saying, “Good evening, Lady P-”

“Ruth, Mike, just Ruth,” she sighs in exasperation as she turns her eyes on him.

“Good evening, Ms Ruth,” Mike murmurs with a smile.

“Good evening, Mike,” she replies. “How are you? How's the family? Is little Anabel walking yet?”

“Aye, she is, Miss,” Mike smiles. “Her brother's right upset about that. She can reach all his things now you see.”

Ruth laughs and hands him a gift bag saying, “Sir Harry and I got them both a little something, and there's something in there for you and Margaret too.”

“Thank you, Ms Ruth, Sir Harry,” Mike beams. “You didn't have to do that.”

Ruth just smiles and gets in the car, closely followed by Harry. Mike closes the door and gets in the driver's seat, placing the bag on the seat next to him before starting the engine and pulling out into the traffic. He's going to miss Sir Harry and Lady Pearce, he thinks sadly, but he's happy that they're married now and have a family. He knows better than most how much they mean to each other and how long it's taken them to come together, and he firmly believes that they deserve every bit of the happiness they're now enjoying.

Ruth and Harry sit quietly in the back of the car lost in thought as they drive away from the George towards home. It had been hard to say goodbye to all their friends today even though they know it's the right thing to do. Ruth's decommissioning papers were the last thing Harry signed today, his last act as Section Head. Erin has taken over and he's pleased about that. She's a good officer, one of the brightest and the best. Calum will be the new Section Chief and they'll probably be looking for a new field agent to help him and Dimitri. They'd also discussed the possibility of recruiting another technical officer to help Tariq, and of course, there's the new analyst who'd been called in to temporarily fill in Ruth's role while she was on maternity leave. Erin's happy with his performance and she indicated that she'll keep him on permanently now that Ruth's leaving for good.

Ruth looks towards her husband and slides her hand over his, causing his fingers to lace themselves through hers as he turns to look at her. “Towers offered me a job,” she says.

He blinks in surprise and asks, “When? As what?”

“About ten days ago,” she confesses. “I haven't had a chance to think about it much since then, or tell you about it. I would be his security advisor and would be liaising with the security services on a daily basis. My salary would be much better and the hours would be good. The work itself sounds interesting. I think I'd enjoy it and I'd be able to see the team everyday. The one thing I'm not sure about is that I was hoping we could move out of London now. Somewhere on the coast, somewhere beautiful and quiet, but I suppose I could commute. What do you think?”

“I think you should take it,” he replies without hesitation. “The commute will be manageable if we look for a place not too far from a train line. In any case, we can't move to the middle of nowhere with Fiona. She'll hate it, especially when she's a teenager. It's perfect for you, Ruth. You were made for more than clerical work, or being a librarian. And if you take the job, I'll be able to sleep easy in my bed, knowing that you have the Home Secretary's ear and Erin's hunting down the bad guys.”

“Bad buys?” she smiles.

“Yes,” he grins. “I thought I'd improve the range of my vocabulary in preparation for being the parent of a teenager again.”

She chuckles. “All right. I'll ring William on Monday.”

“William?” he asks as he raises his eyebrows at her.

“He asked me to call him William, so I'm practising,” she shrugs. “I'd still like to wait until Fiona's six months old before I start if he'll let me. I don't want to miss out on that, or on having you all to myself again for a little while longer.”

"That's good," he smiles and raises her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles and turning it over to press another one against the inside of her wrist.


	47. Chapter 47

_20th December, 9 pm_

 

“That was a lovely meal, Ruth,” Jim sighs as he leans back in his chair. “Thank you.”

“Actually, it was a joint effort,” Ruth smiles, “but I'm glad you enjoyed it.”

“Really?” Jim asks. “Well, well, well. You're just full of surprises, old buddy.”

“I have to keep you on your toes, Jim,” Harry grins. “Tea, coffee, or something stronger?”

“Something stronger, I think,” Jim replies. “No offence, but you Brits have absolutely no idea how to make a good coffee.”

“Some taken,” Ruth frowns, making Jim laugh.

“You're quite right, Ruth,” he chuckles. “I forgot who I was speaking to for a moment. I bet there's nothing that you cannot do well.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Ruth smiles. “I do make a terrible field agent. I always seem to get in over my head and cause everyone heaps of trouble... Making coffee, however, is hardly that complicated, and I'll have you know that I make a mean cup.”

“I have no doubt,” Jim grins, “but in this instance, I really would prefer something stronger. I know Harry has quite the collection of single malts, you see, that I've been just itching to sample.”

“Too true,” she replies, “and I'm sure he'll be happy to share with you, seeing as you're a fellow whisky connoisseur.”

Both men laugh and rise from the table as Harry says, “Come through to the sitting room where we can be a little more comfortable.” Then he turns to Ruth and adds, “Don't do that now, Ruth. Come join us and I'll help you wash up later.”

“All right,” she smiles. “I'll just rinse them off.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “What will you have? A Sherry?”

“Please,” she smiles as they leave the room.

Soon they're sitting comfortably in the sitting room sipping their drinks and talking.

“So when is it that you're off home, Jim?” Harry asks presently.

“Tomorrow night,” he answers. “Luckily, I'll be home for Christmas, or I'd never hear the end of it, and I've even managed to get some shopping done so the girls won't be disappointed.”

“Your daughter is twelve now?” Ruth asks.

“That's right,” Jim nods and then sighs as he adds, “Come March she'll be a teenager.”

“Not something you're looking forward to then,” Harry murmurs with a smile.

“No,” Jim shakes his head. “Do you even know what passes for entertainment for teens nowadays, Harry? Two months ago she asked for permission to go to the park and 'hang out' with her friends, but when Gian asked her who'd be there and what they'd be doing, Brie admitted that they would be hanging out and drinking beer that two of her friends' parents would be providing! I mean, Jesus! Twelve year olds drinking beer at the park, Hal, and with their parents' blessing. I'm telling you, our folks had it easy; _we_ had it easy... Thank God, my wife has managed to instil in her some sense of self-respect and taught her how to stand up for herself, or there would be no hope. No way can you protect them if they're trying to rebel against you at every turn.”

“And I thought taking care of a baby was hard,” Ruth sighs.

“Ah, don't worry about it, Ruth,” Jim grins. “They train you themselves as they grow up. Though Gian has always said that having friends with children slightly older than yours is invaluable in staying one step ahead of your kids. But you have Harry. He's done all this before.”

“You know perfectly well that I was never home, Jim,” Harry frowns and purses his lips, “and after what happened with my son, I'm afraid I'm quite useless in that respect.”

“So do the opposite of what you did last time,” Jim grins. “That'll do the trick.”

 

 

_Five days later, 25th December, 8 am_

 

“Mmmmm,” she hums when she comes round to the feel of his lips on the back of her neck and his body pressed against her back.

“Happy Christmas, Ruth,” he whispers in her ear and continues to caress her gently with his lips, sliding his hand round her waist and under her pyjama top to stroke the soft skin of her stomach.

“After an early Christmas present, are you?” she answers after a moment in a sleepy voice as she rolls towards him, coming to rest on her back and opening her eyes to look at him.

He chuckles and raises himself on one elbow, his eyes radiating love and desire as he gazes at her and replies, “Actually, Ruth, I'm more interested in _giving you_ an early Christmas present.” His hand slides over her stomach and further up as he dips his head forward and captured her lips in a soft, sensual kiss. He finds her breast, cupping it gently and caressing it with his fingertips as he continues to kiss her, brushing his tongue against hers, sucking gently on her top lip, and nibbling on the bottom one. He's so good at this, caressing, exciting, pleasuring, and before long, almost without realising how, she's completely naked in his arms and groaning in pleasure.

She's still not quite fully awake and all sensations are somehow splendidly magnified. “Harry,” she breathes as his fingers brush over her sensitive mound, sending shivers down her spine and lightning bolts through her core. Feeling his lips press against her own again, she wraps her arms around him, sliding her fingers through his hair and pulling him close as his tongue enters her mouth and brushes firmly against hers, while he presses two fingers into her wet heat and rubs his thumb against her clit. Her legs fell apart and she tilts her pelvis towards his questing fingers, feeling the threads of desire coil tighter and tighter inside her.

God, she's so sexy like this, aroused and half asleep with all her inhibitions completely gone. He knows that she adores making love early in the morning before she's fully awake. She mentioned it recently, the day after he'd retired, when he'd been unable to stop himself from waking her.

He usually wakes first, and this time had been no different. He'd been awake for half an hour or so, contemplating his retirement and what it means for him, what changes he wants to make in his life and in himself. He'd made a conscious decision to let go of the tight reign he's kept on his reactions, his emotions, his thoughts, to let go of most of his formidable self-control. He knows that he'll never let himself revert back to the impulsive behaviour of his youth; he doesn't want that, but he no longer needs or wishes to be always holding back either.

A good balance is what he needs, he'd been thinking as Ruth had shifted in her sleep next to him and drawn his attention back to her. She'd been so beautiful in the early morning light that filtered through the curtains, and his mind had been instantly flooded by erotic images, dwelling on what it feels like to kiss her and love her all over, to lose himself inside her. Desire, swift and potent, had pulsed through him, and he'd suddenly realised that there have been so many mornings in the last few months when he'd woken up wanting her, but every time he'd held back, his self-control and self-denial kicking in to deny him what he craved. He'd never let himself act on his desire until she'd been wide awake and able to give him clear signals that she wanted him also.

In fact, he'd realised that he almost never initiates sex with Ruth. He takes charge very quickly after she's made her desire for him known, but not before she's taken the first step, and he'd suddenly recognised how damaging this habit of self-control could become now that he doesn't need it to survive any more. So resolving to change it, he'd woken her with soft kisses and gentle touches, and to his delight, she'd loved it, telling him afterwards that he can wake her like that every morning for the rest of her life if he wants to. He smiles at the recollection as he whispers her name and sucks on her earlobe, curling his fingers inside her and eliciting a soft moan from her lips.

“God, you're so sexy, Ruth,” he growls. “I have to taste you.”

He slides down her body, sucking and licking her skin as he moves to nestle himself between her legs, pulling his fingers out of her momentarily as he blows softly against her. Her lips part, releasing a soft moan of pleasure that turns into a deep groan when he firmly, but ever so slowly, runs his tongue over the entire length of her folds in one long stroke.

This is heaven, she thinks dimly as her sluggish brain finally begins to wake up thanks to the desire now coursing through her body, and she's suddenly incredibly impatient. She wants him, all of him, right now; it's always so much better with him inside her. “Harry, please,” she begs and tries to pull him up, but he can't or won't understand or oblige, and the next moment, she finds herself having to bite her lower lip to stop herself from crying out as she feels his fingers slide back inside her and his mouth suck on her clit.

“Oh, dear God!” she moans, bucking beneath him and gripping the sheets with her hands. “Harry!”

He loves that he can do this to her and delights in being in complete control of her pleasure. He brings her to the brink again and again before backing off, moving his caresses to her thighs or her breasts before going down on her again, but when he pulls back for the third time, she groans in frustration and almost growls, “You are the most dreadful tease, Harry Pearce, and if you're not careful, you're going to pay for this.”

His eyebrows shoot up in disbelief and he pulls himself up, moving over her on all fours to look down at her, and unable to resist the temptation, he takes the bait and asks with a mischievous grin, “And how exactly is that going to happen, Ruth?”

Her eyes are blazing with desire as she reaches her hands up to his chest, and using all the strength she can muster, she pushes him onto his back and straddles him quickly, taking him by surprise at the swiftness of her movements.

“You're eager,” he murmurs huskily.

“You've got a nerve,” she replies, and then leaning over him, she whispers in his ear, “Now it's time for _your_ Christmas present, Harry. Take your clothes off.” He hesitates, momentarily thrown by her abrupt, commanding tone. “Now, Harry,” she adds as she slides off him and gets out of bed, walking towards the dresser and pulling out his favourite, golden tie from the top drawer. She ties it around her neck and turns around, glancing towards the bassinet and frowning when she finds it empty.

“I put her in her crib after she woke up earlier,” he explains as he pulls off his clothes. “I didn't want her to interfere with our... private Christmas celebration.”

She smiles, and taking another tie from the drawer, she walks slowly towards him, swaying her hips from side to side and sliding the tie she's holding across her skin, stroking her breasts, hips, and bottom with it as she moves forward until she reaches the edge of the bed. He's sitting up, his mouth gaping open as he watches her through lust filled eyes. She's never had the confidence to move in such a seductive way before, not without clothes on, but to her surprise, she doesn't feel uncomfortable under his gaze, and reaching forward slowly, she presses her hands against his shoulders, pushing him back onto the bed.

Once he's horizontal, she pulls back to look at him, trailing the end of the royal blue tie she's holding over his body and letting her eyes follow its progress appreciatively. “God, Harry, you're so gorgeous,” she murmurs quietly, “and so very large.” His breathing quickens at her words, and he gasps when she places her hand over his balls, cupping them gently before sliding it up along his erection as she adds, “Huge in fact.” He groans at her words and tough, and she raises her eyes to his, saying, “Close your eyes.”

Again he hesitates before doing as she asks. He's finding that having her take control like this is really quite stimulating, and though he has to fight against his instinct to refuse to submit and take orders from anyone, he's intrigued enough by the change in her demeanour to go along with it for now.

Felling a little cold without the covers, she pulls the duvet over his lower half and gets in bed next to him, kneeling beside him and pulling the covers over her shoulders. She uses her hands and fingertips to stoke his chest and shoulders, his face and hair. Her lips join in the exploration of his upper body, and she feels him slowly relax a little under her touch, his breathing becoming deeper and evening out as he enjoys her caresses. Then sitting up and lifting his left hand to her face, she licks and sucks on his fingers, working her way down his arms as she surreptitiously ties one end of Harry's blue tie around his wrist.

“Don't move,” she murmurs as she pushes both his arms over his head, holding them down against the pillows while she straddles his waist and lowers her chest towards his face. Harry immediately begins to kiss and lick her breasts and nipples, distracting her momentarily, but she recovered quickly, and rapidly threading the tie through the railings of the headboard, she wraps the other end round his right wrist and quickly ties it off. It isn't easy as Harry becomes aware of what she's doing when he feel the tug against his left wrist and the material of his tie wrapping around his right one. "Ruth?" he utters uncertainly, opening his eyes and beginning to struggle, however, his physical strength isn't a sufficient advantage in his current position with Ruth sitting across his waist and leaning over him, and with his arms stretched out over his head while his left arm's already immobilised. So Ruth manages to secure this right wrist without too much difficulty.

Feeling very pleased with herself, Ruth gets off him, moving back to his side and smiling triumphantly.

Harry flexes his arm muscles, trying to pull his hands free as he narrows his eyes at her and turns his head to look up at her handiwork. His hands are tied at the wrists to the headboard in such a way that he can't bring them near each other to undo the knots. "What the hell, Ruth!" he exclaims and turns his head to look at her.

"I did try to warn you, Harry. You shouldn't tease so."

“Untie me this instant, woman,” he growls.

“No, I don't think so, Harry,” she replies mischievously. “I haven't finished with you yet. First, I'm going to enjoy touching you... licking you... and sucking you...” His breathing becomes shallower again in spite of his attempts to control it. “Would you like me to do that, Harry?” she asks sweetly as her hands slide down his chest to his tummy.

“Yes,” he says in a hoarse whisper as he feels her fingertips move lower, skirting around his erection at the last minute and sliding over his inner thighs.

She smiles again and moves further down the bed, pushing his legs apart and kneeling down between them. She leans over him and blows softly across his balls before looking up at him and asking, “Yes, what?”

It takes him a moment to figure out what she's talking about as his lust filled mind's a little slow on the uptake. “Please,” he murmurs, “yes, please.”

“You know I'd love to, Harry,” she replies in a throaty voice. “I absolutely adore sucking your cock.”

He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat at that, his surprise at Ruth talking dirty to him swiftly being eclipsed by how much it turns him on, before it becomes a groan as her tongue slides against him, slowly moving from his balls all the way up his shaft and swirling around the tip of his erection. This is definitely the best sex he's ever had and it isn't even over yet, he thinks dimly a little while later as she continues to pleasure him with her hands and mouth, bringing him to the brink before pulling back, teasing him mercilessly as he'd done to her earlier.

She sits up for a moment and lifts her eyes to his face, watching him as he groans in frustration and growls, “Fuck, Ruth. I can't take any more of this. Untie me this instant!”

“I love it when you get angry and all alpha male on me, Harry,” she smiles and works her way up his body, straddling him and rubbing her wet folds against his hardened length.

“Fuck!” he exclaims again and strains against the tie that holds him imprisoned.

“Oh, I will, Harry,” she promises in a low seductive voice, guiding him to her wet heat and sliding down onto him slowly, deliberately, gradually letting him stretch her until she's completely full of him. She pauses, savouring the feel of his hardness fitting snugly, perfectly inside her, her eyes drifting shut and her lips parting in a soft, “oh,” of pleasure. It never ceases to amaze her how solid he is when aroused, especially since, in the past, she's had lovers younger than Harry who've had difficulty remaining hard throughout their love making. “I love you,” she murmurs as she leans down to kiss his soft, sexy lips.

“Untie me, please,” he begs when they brake apart for air. “I want to touch you.”

“Mmmm,” she hums. “What else do you want to do to me, Harry? Tell me.”

“I want to pin you to the bed while I fuck you hard. I want to give you an earth shattering orgasm, and then do it again and again until you beg me to stop,” he growls. “And when you've had enough, I want to empty myself deep inside you... because I love to come inside you, Ruth. It's my favourite place to be. The safest, softest, most beautiful place in the world and it's mine, all mine.”

The possessiveness and desire in his eyes is palpable, but as she looks into them, she can also see the love he feels for her burning in their depths. It's remarkable to be loved so deeply by another, and it never fails to move her and make her feel so very grateful. “Yes, Harry. Yours, always yours. I love you,” she whispers. Then reaching up, she undoes the knots tying him to the bed.

The moment his hands are free, he slides them into her soft, silky hair and pulls her head down planting passionate, almost brutal kisses against her lips, along her jaw and down her neck, sucking on her ear lobe and sliding his tongue into her ear as he rolls on top of her and begins to move his pelvis, fucking her hard as he promised. She moans under him as he continues his motion, bringing himself almost to the brink once more before he abruptly pulls out of her and shimmies down the bed to suck on her sweet pussy. Soon she's bucking against him once more, grabbing the sheets in her fists and moaning in pleasure as the threads of desire coiled tighter inside her. This time, he doesn't hold back when she becomes really quiet, this time he keeps going and pushes her straight over the edge and into oblivion. “Harry! Yes! Oh God, YES!” she calls out, louder than she's ever done before as he feels her muscles ripple around his fingers and her whole body shake at the intensity of her orgasm.

He lifts his head to look at her and slides his fingers out of her gently, pushing her legs apart and entering her once more. She moans softly as he sheaths himself inside her and leans over her to kiss her lips. “I love you,” he murmurs against them as he begins to move, straightening his arms, knowing that this is the perfect angle for her in this position. He begins to drive into her in a steady rhythm, increasing the tempo slowly, and moments later, she cries out again as he feels her squeeze him tightly inside her. He doesn't even pause in his thrusts this time, but keeps going until she comes once more.

“Stop,” she whispers. “I can't.”

“Once more, Ruth, for me. Together,” he says, and she nods once as he sits back on his heels and lifts her legs up, placing them over his shoulders before beginning to move again. “I love to fuck you, Ruth,” he murmurs as he watches her face, “And I love to watch you come. Come for me, Ruth. Come now.” He drives into her again and again, over and over in an increasingly frenzied pattern until he can hold back no more and he groans, “Now, Ruth.” He presses into her hard and hears her gasp as he throws his head back and groans her name. His mind and muscles turn to mush in an instant as his heart beat thunders in his ears and his chest heaves with each harsh breath he takes. He falls back onto his heels and pulls her legs against his face, pressing gentle kisses to her skin for several moments before remaining upright becomes harder than attempting to move. Then he releases her gently and moves to lie beside her, flopping down onto his back.

She lies motionless for what seems like hours, unable to move. Even her eyelids feel too heavy to lift at that moment. She feels him roll over to face her and hears him groan in contentment as his fingertips begin to stroke her skin gently, and a few moments later, his tongue licks her nipples.

“Delicious,” he murmurs as he watches the smile creep across her lips.

“That's your daughter's breakfast, Harry,” she mumbles. “I never pegged you as someone who'd steal from his own child.”

He chuckles and replies, “She's still sleeping and it would be a shame to waste it, Ruth. It's no wonder she never stops nursing, it's so very sweet, and in any case, it's not my fault you leak.”

“Actually, I rather think it is,” she answers. “It never happens when I do it alone.”

“Alone?” he asks intrigued. “Ruth, we've been having sex at least every other day and have spent almost all day, every day together since my second retirement. When do you even have time to do it alone?”

“Not recently,” she blushes, but forces herself to go on; she's determined to take their intimacy to the next level, no matter how uncomfortable it might be initially. After all, when she'd first started dating Harry, it had been just as difficult to speak up about what she wants and needs, yet now it's become second nature to her. “When the Russians were in town,” she murmurs, “there were a couple of nights when I was desperate and you weren't home yet. And besides, the book I've been reading recently says it's important to engage in self-gratification and that it actually increases your desire for sex.”

“I'm not sure that's very wise, Ruth,” Harry frowns. “I might not be able to keep up.”

“Don't worry,” she smiles and adds with a blush, “If need be, you can always just watch.”

Harry looks stunned for a moment and it's worth the momentary discomfort she'd felt when she'd said it to see the look on his face. “Hell's bells, Ruth,” he growls after a second or so of silence, during which his expression shifts from one of surprise, to disbelief, to admiration, and finally, desire. “You're going to be the death of me one day... What book is this?”

“The multi-orgasmic woman,” she smiles.

“You already are multi-orgasmic, Ruth,” he murmurs huskily. He may not be young enough to be ready for round two physically, but the rest of his body's responses aren't nearly as sluggish, and he quickly finds himself wishing that he was thirty odd years younger and able to go again right now.

“Mmmm,” she agrees. “Thanks to you. I could never do it before, you know.” She sighs in pleasure and adds, “God, Harry, that was good. I hope we can start every Christmas like this from now on.”

“Well, Ruth,” he replies after a momentary hesitation as his eyes suddenly turn sad, “I'll do my best. Unfortunately, however, I am quite a bit older than you and I can't make any promises.”

She watches him for a moment, thinking about the possibility of losing him. He's right; he _is_ older than her and will in all likelihood die first, and she might still be quite young. Oddly, it isn't something she's really considered before. The possibility of Harry dying is something she's worried about of course, but it has always been linked in her mind with his job, never his age. It will hurt more than anything to lose him, she knows, but she'll also be so grateful for the time they've had together. She knows how fragile life is, has lost many of her loved ones, staring with her father at the tender age of eleven. She'd miss him terribly, but she's already resolved to enjoy the here and now, and not worry about the future. No one knows what it holds anyway and concern over what might happen has caused her to lose so much time with him already. She's done worrying about the what ifs; life's too short for that.

“Harry,” she says as she raises her hand to cup his face, “you do know that I'll love you even when you're really, really old, have no hair left on your head and too much coming out of your nose and ears, all your teeth have fallen out, you don't remember who I am, and you can't get it up any more, don't you?” He chuckles and nods, amused by the picture she's painted. “The most important thing is that I'm with you. The rest is just icing on the cake.”

He smiles and says, “Then I hope we can start every Christmas, birthday, anniversary, holiday... hell, and every other day in between like this too. We have to make the most of it while it lasts, and I can still get it up as you so rightly pointed out.” She laughs and he adds, “But Ruth, I feel the need to point out that I very much enjoy giving you pleasure without the use of the certain part of my anatomy that we've been discussing, and I will always be happy to do so whenever you wish.”

“I'll hold you to that, Sir Harry,” she smiles.

“Mmmm, do,” he murmurs as he pulls her into his arms and placed a soft kiss on her lips.

 

 

_Same day, 25th December, 12 pm_

 

“Hi, Mum,” Ruth smiles as she opens the door.

“Hello, Ruth,” Elizabeth replies. “Happy Christmas.”

“And to you, Mum. Come in,” she holds the door open wider and allows her mother to enter, giving her a brief hug before closing the door, helping her remove her coat and hanging it up for her.

“Where's my favourite granddaughter?” she asks as she glances down the hall.

“Harry has her in the sitting room,” Ruth smiles. “She fell asleep on his chest and he's using it as an excuse not to get up.”

“Sounds just like your father,” Elizabeth replies. “He was always coming up with a good reason not to help in the kitchen.”

Ruth groans inwardly but wisely says nothing as she mentally kicks herself for saying such a thing. Her mother, it seems, is determined to find fault with Harry. In the first couple of months of her relationship with him, she'd wondered if it was the age difference that bothered her. After all, Harry _is_ closer to her mother's age that he is to hers, just like she's closer in age to Catherine and Graham than Harry. She supposes some people might have a problem with that and as they grow older it'll become more of an issue for them also. However, she'd decided recently that her mother wouldn't have approved of any man she'd chosen to marry. Approval just isn't something she does. She hadn't approved of either of her husbands and hadn't approved of her daughter or her step-son. Ruth wonders if she'll approve of Fiona as she grows older. She hopes so. The poor kid only has one grandmother and a grandfather who's in a nursing home suffering from Alzheimer's. He doesn't even recognise Harry any longer and it pains her to see it.

The first time they'd visited the home where he lives, a few days after she'd met Catherine, Harry had looked so heartbroken that it had made her heart ache for him. He'd been so gentle with his father, helping him to drink and eat a little, talking to him about this and that, telling him about Catherine, Graham, Fiona and Jamie, even thought it was clear that James Pearce couldn't and wouldn't remember who they were. She'd fallen in love with him all over again on that day, and that night she'd plucked up her courage and asked him a little about his childhood. He'd been reluctant at first to talk about it, but once he'd started to open up, they'd talked for hours, sharing stories about their parents, their brothers, their escapades, their experiences at school, and it had brought them closer together than ever before. She's sure now that they'd only survived Elena Gavrik because of that night, because she'd realised then that they _can_ have more, that Harry's capable of more, and that, in time, they can have everything and _be_ everything to each other. And _that's_ something for which she'll fight tooth and nail if she has to.

She follows her mother into the living room where Harry's sitting in an arm chair, humming softly to his sleeping daughter. He loves to hum.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” Harry says softly. “Happy Christmas.”

“Thank you, Harry,” Elizabeth replies. “Happy Christmas. How is my little granddaughter?”

“Very well as you can see,” Harry murmurs and carefully begins to get up. He's good at doing it without waking her now, and on the nights when Fiona's teething and can't sleep, he'll walk with her and sit with her for hours if she needs it. He loves to hold her close.

For years he's held back from physical contact with people, knowing how necessary his self-control and self-denial were for his job and his sanity while doing that job. Too often in the past, he's let them slip and has paid dearly for those mistakes, most notably with the loss of his marriage and children, and later, after Cotterdam, with the loss of Ruth.

Now that he's began to let them go, however, he finds he craves to touch his wife and hold his daughter. He can't get enough of it. Ruth, he can tell, is puzzled by it and at times a little overwhelmed, but he can't seem to stop himself. He doesn't want to stop himself. He feels like a teenager again with his first girlfriend, back when it had been so wonderful and new to be allowed to touch someone, to hold hands, to kiss and cuddle, that he'd wanted to do it all the time. And that's exactly how he feels about Ruth now.

He's sure that she enjoys this change in his behaviour towards her, but he can tell that sometimes she wants some distance, and at those times, he's especially grateful for his daughter. She never tires of being held... not yet at any rate. In a few months, that will change of course. Once she starts crawling, she'll be wanting to go places, explore, discover the world around her. Hopefully, by that point, his need for physical contact will have subsided once more. Not completely, however. He's already decided that he'll never revert back to his behaviour on the Grid.

“Would you like to hold her?” he asks Elizabeth quietly.

“Perhaps I'd better wait until she wakes up,” she replies as she strokes her granddaughter's arm with one finger. “She's grown so much. Is she rolling over yet?”

“Not yet,” Ruth replies. “She's working on it, though. She's the most active little thing and so determined.”

“Well, that's hardly surprising,” Elizabeth smiles. “She's your daughter. You were walking by nine months, talking in complete sentences at two, and reading at three.”

“Christ,” Harry mutters under his breath, “I never thought I'd say this, but I hope she takes after me, or we'll never be able to keep up with her.”

Ruth laughs and teases, “Speak for yourself, Harry. I'm sure I'll do just fine. Anyway, what Mum's failed to mention is that once I started reading, they never had to worry about me again; I was always curled up somewhere warm, reading a book.”

“You were a very easy child after the age of three,” Elizabeth confirms and adds with a sigh. “Even the boys didn't seem to interest you as much as books.”

“ _Mum!_ ” she objects immediately, “Can we _not_ have this conversation again right now.”

“All right, Dear,” Elizabeth replies as she turns, walks over to the sofa, and takes a seat. “I was just saying that having your nose glued to a book didn't do you a lot of good in the long run.”

Harry sees Ruth about to open her mouth and give her mother a piece of her mind, so he quickly steps between them, sliding his hand around hers and squeezing it gently. “Take Fiona, Ruth,” he says quietly and proceeds to hand over their sleeping daughter, using it as a pretext to lean in and whisper in her ear, “I disagree too, Ruth. If you'd been chasing after boys instead of reading books, I wouldn't have stood a chance. You probably wouldn't have joined MI-5 and would certainly have married a good looking, smarter, younger, and all around better man.” He pulls back and smiles at her. “Let it go; it's Christmas,” he adds after a moment.

She smiles and nods as she shifts Fiona around in her arms before whispering back, “You're wrong. If I searched for a lifetime, I'll never find someone better than you.”

Harry grins and holds her gaze for a few moments before turning around and offering Elizabeth a drink.

 


	48. Chapter 48

 

_Same day, 25th of December, 4 pm_

 

“Ganpa!” Jamie squeals when Harry opens the door.

“Hello, Jamie. Happy Christmas,” Harry smiles as he lifts his grandson up and gives him a kiss, stepping back into the hall to let Graham enter.

“Up, Ganpa, up!” he exclaims.

“Just a moment, Jamie,” Harry says. “Let me wish Daddy a happy Christmas too.” He turns to Graham and smiles as he balances Jamie on his left hip. “Happy Christmas, Son.”

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” Graham grins, and stepping forward, he embraces his father briefly before moving back.

“Up, Ganpa,” Jamie says.

“Yes, Jamie,” Harry smiles as he turns towards him and kissed his hair. “Let's take your coat off.” So with Graham's help, he removes Jamie's coat and lifts him up onto his shoulders.

“Catherine and Richard should be right behind us,” Graham murmurs as he hangs their coats up. “We left Mum's together.”

“How is your mother?” Harry asks as they turn to walk down the hall together.

“All right,” Graham replies. “A little surprised that you're organizing a Christmas get together for us, but that was to be expected I suppose.”

“You didn't tell her about Ruth and Fiona?” Harry asks in surprise as they enter the sitting room.

“No,” Graham replies. “We weren't sure if you wanted us to, and besides, it's not as if she asks after you. Tea at your place only came up because we had to leave earlier than usual from hers.”

“Nice to know she still cares,” Harry mutters under his breath.

Graham wisely refrains from pointing out that this is the first time he's asked about his ex-wife, so he can hardly talk. Instead he asks, “Is Ruth with Fiona?”

“Yes,” Harry confirms. “She's nursing her.” Then he says to his grandson, “Let's get you down, Jamie, and play a game.”

“No,” Jamie objects and tightens his grip on Harry.

“All right, Jamie,” Harry gasps. “All right. You can stay up a little longer. There's no need to strangle me.”

“Gently, Jamie,” Graham says in a firm, yet kind voice. “You're hurting Grandpa.”

Jamie relaxes his grip a little just as the door bell rings. “Let's see who's at the door, Jamie,” Harry suggests and turns to walk back down the hall.

“Dad!” Catherine beams and gives him a rather awkward hug as her abdomen was now huge. “Merry Christmas.”

“Harry Christmas, Catherine,” he smiles as he steps back to let her enter. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, Dad,” Catherine replies. “A little tired and somewhat impatient for your grandchild to make an appearance, but otherwise I'm okay. Richard's being wonderful.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” Harry smiles as Richard follows Catherine into the house. Then they shake hands and wish each other a happy Christmas before Richard hangs up their coats.

“I see you've already got the best seat in the house, Jamie,” Richard smiles, tugging gently on the little boy's foot.

“Up,” Jamie replies.

“You _are_ very high up, Jamie,” Catherine smiles. “Your daddy used to like sitting on Grandpa's shoulders too, you know. In fact, he asked to go to the park almost every day so that he could get a chance to ride up there. Do you remember that, Graham?”

“Yeah,” Graham grins as they walk into the sitting room. “Remember the time when you dropped me, Dad?”

“I did _not_ drop you,” Harry says indignantly. “You grabbed hold of a tree branch, causing me to lose my balance, and we both ended up in a heap on the ground.”

“I remember that!” Catherine laughs. “You looked so funny. Dad fell over backwards and you landed on his face.”

“Ouch!” Richard grimaces.

“Yeah,” Graham grins. “He was all right though, but I think that was the last time he ever gave me a ride on his shoulders; said I'd graduated to piggyback rides.”

“If you can call a black eye, a bloody nose, and several bruised ribs all right, Son,” Harry comments dryly, “it's hardly surprising that I refused to risk repeating the experience. I remember your mother wouldn't believe me when I said I didn't get in a fist fight. It was only because Catherine told her what had happened that she accepted the explanation I offered in the end.”

“It was hardly surprising that she didn't believe you, Dad,” Catherine objects, “when just the previous week you'd come back with a shiner from some pub brawl.”

“You remember that?” Harry asks in astonishment.

“Yes,” Catherine nods. “It was the first time I realised that your job was dangerous. I overheard you telling Mum that she needn't worry and that you'd suffered much worse at work.”

“That was when Mum told us he was a policeman, wasn't it?” Graham asks.

Catherine nods and then chuckles as she amends, “A _glorified_ policeman.”

“And _that_ , Jamie,” Ruth says with a smile as she approaches, carrying a gurgling Fiona, “is what is called an oxymoron.” Harry's frown of a moment ago turns into a smile, and she winks at him as she adds, “There's no glory to be found in Grandpa's job. The best thing you can hope for in recognition of years of service is a knighthood, though I have heard rumours that your grandfather here was offered a peerage once.” Then before anyone can question her last comment, Ruth looks up at Jamie and smiles. “Happy Christmas, Jamie,” she says and turns to the others, adding, “Happy Christmas, all.”

They all wish her and Fiona a happy Christmas as she hugs and kisses each one of them and Fiona gets passed around. When Graham attempts to pass her back to Ruth, however, she begins to whimper. “Did you miss me?” Graham grins at his sister, and she gives him a big smile and begins gurgling away at him as if she's telling him everything that he's missed over the past few days. Everyone else laughs as Graham sits down on the sofa and Catherine takes a seat beside him.

“Ona,” Jamie says and begins to try to get down from his grandfather's shoulders.

“Hang on, Jamie,” Harry warns. “I'll get you down. Stop wiggling.”

Noticing what's going on, Richard steps up to Harry and lifts Jamie down, setting him gently on the floor. Jamie immediately toddles forward to Catherine, as his father's lap is occupied, and begins to climb up.

“Hello, Jamie,” Catherine smiles, hugging her nephew to her.

“Ona,” he says, pointing at his other aunt, who squeals in delight, kicking her legs and waving her arms.

Noticing Ruth moving towards the kitchen and that everyone else is occupied with the children, Harry moves closer to his wife and gently touches her arm, causing her to turn towards him. “You've been spying on me,” he says with a frown.

“I have?” she asks in surprise.

“The offer you just mentioned was made during a confidential telephone conversation,” he clarifies.

Ruth smiles and replies, “Thank you for confirming my suspicions. I only overheard your side of the conversation when I came up to the roof to see if you were all right. You said you were sufficiently ennobled, so I surmised that Towers had offered you a peerage. It's nice to know that I was right.”

Harry glares at her for a moment, knowing that she's come out on top yet again. Then choosing to attempt to throw her off by completely changing the subject, he softens his gaze and asks, “Don't I get a kiss then? Everyone else did.”

Her eyes widen in surprise at the sudden shift in conversation before she recovers and smiles. “You've already had more than your fair share,” she teases and watches his lips form a pout. She knows that he's doing it on purpose as he's well aware of how irresistible she finds him when he does that.

“As your husband, Ruth, I'm entitled to at least a million times the number of kisses that anyone else gets,” he murmurs as he steps closer to her.

“Is that so?” she asks with a smile.

“Yes,” he replies, leaning his upper body towards her so that their faces are mere centimetres apart. “It's up there with sexual favours in the list of important benefits of marriage.”

The comment takes her completely by surprise, and she snorts with laughter, drawing everyone's attention over to them. Harry pulls back a little and smirks in satisfaction as Ruth swallows in an effort to stop herself from bursting out laughing, unfortunately, however, she manages to make herself choke instead. Harry's expression immediately shifts to one of concern as he leads her over to a chair, and Richard fetches her a glass of water from the kitchen, which she accepts gratefully when her coughing's subsided sufficiently to hold it without spilling it.

“Goodness, Ruth,” Catherine says once she's finally stopped coughing. “What on earth did you say to her, Dad?”

Harry looks a little uncomfortable as he briefly glances at his daughter before turning towards the door, saying, “I think perhaps I'd better make the tea.”

“I'll help,” Richard offers and the two of them disappear into the kitchen.

Soon they're all sitting around the coffee table, drinking tea and eating Christmas cake while they chat away about this and that. Jamie's happily playing with his new toy train that Ruth and Harry have given him and Fiona's sleeping upstairs.

There's a lull in the conversation, so Ruth gets up and retrieves the last three presents from under the tree. Then she resumes her seat next to Harry placing the gifts in his lap. “Presents,” she says simply.

“Happy Christmas, Catherine,” Harry smiles as he leans over and places a medium sized gift bag in her lap.

“Dad!” she exclaims. “You shouldn't have. Thank you.”

She eagerly opens the gift and finds the most beautiful silk sling inside it. It's a gorgeous, shiny blue on one side and an almost golden tan on the other with flowers embroidered on the blue side with thread that matches the golden tan colour of the lining perfectly. “Wow, Dad!” she exclaims. “It's beautiful. Thank you.” She gets up and slips it over her shoulder, adjusting it carefully and looking around at everyone.

“It's perfect on you,” Ruth smiles.

“It looks great,” Richard chimes in. “Like a beautiful shawl.”

“Yeah,” Graham adds. “Everyone will be so busy admiring it, they won't notice the baby.”

“You're such an idiot, Graham,” Catherine frowns at him and turns to her father, giving him a warm hug and murmuring her thanks again. Then she embraces Ruth and thanks her too.

“It's our pleasure,” Ruth smiles.

Next Richard receives a set of filters for his camera that he'd mentioned he needs to replace. He thanks both Ruth and Harry warmly for his gift before sitting back to watch Graham open the small box he's been given. Graham expects it to contain a watch, but when he opens the box he gasps in amazement. Inside is a set of two car keys. “Dad!” he exclaims as he looks up at his father in disbelief. “I can't accept this!”

“Yes, you can and you will,” Harry replies in a no nonsense tone.

“But-” Graham begins to object, but he's interrupted by Ruth this time.

“Please, Graham,” she says. “We worry about you and Jamie driving around in your old Fiesta. It's not safe. You were so lucky that you didn't get injured when the brakes failed the other day.”

“But a car, Ruth!” Graham objects. “It's too expensive.”

“No, it wasn't,” Harry chimes in. “A friend of mine gave it to me for practically nothing. I wanted to buy you a new one, but I knew you wouldn't accept it, so when Malcolm mentioned that he was selling his Clio, I bought it off him. Think of it as - what is it now? - twenty years worth of Christmas presents.”

Graham's silent for a little while contemplating the keys he holds in his hand until eventually he sighs, and looking up, he smiles and says, “Thank you, Dad. Thanks, Ruth. It means a lot. I confess that I've been worried about driving Jamie in the Fiesta and have been trying to work out how I was going to be able to afford a new car.” He gets up and embraces his father and Ruth in turn, thanking them again before taking a seat once more in his chair.

“And to think you two tried to talk us into buying you nothing for Christmas,” Catherine smiles as she shakes her head at Ruth and Harry. “It's a good job we didn't listen, isn't it?”

“Absolutely,” Graham nods fervently as he gets up. “We'll be right back,” he adds as he and Richard leave the room. Moments later, they hear the front door open and close as the two of them go out to Catherine's car to get the gift.

“You three are naughty,” Ruth scolds Catherine. “We've already got what we wanted for Christmas.”

“Well,” Catherine smiles, “call this a little something extra then that will come in handy very soon.”

They don't have to wait long before they hear the front door open again, and Graham pops his head round the door frame, saying, “Close your eyes, Dad, Ruth.”

Ruth and Harry look at each other and smile before they close their eyes as requested. There's a brief scuffling noise and then Catherine says, “Merry Christmas! You can open them now.”

As soon as they open their eyes, their gazes fall on Jamie, who's standing before them with Graham crouched by his side. Graham nods and whispers something to Jamie, who says, “Mewwy Kissmas, Ganny and Ganpa.”

Immediately, Ruth leans forward and gives him a big hug, murmuring, “Thank you, Jamie. That's so special,” as she lifts him onto her lap. She's so touched by the gesture that, when she raises her eyes to Graham's a moment later, she has to clear her throat before she can trust her voice to thank him.

“You haven't even seen what it is yet,” Graham teases with a grin.

“Whatever it is, I'm sure this was the best part of it,” Ruth smiles in return.

“You're part of our family now, Ruth. He should have been calling you that since the beginning, but...” Graham shrugs. “Besides it's impossible to have too many grandmothers in my opinion.” He smiles and then adds, “Is Granny okay? Or would you prefer to be called something else? Dad seemed to think that that's what you'd prefer.”

“It is,” Ruth smiles as she glances at Harry and squeezes his thigh affectionately. “My father's mother was my favourite, and she was always Granny.”

Graham nods and then steps back, pulling the blanket off the set of four suitcases and bags of various sizes that's behind him.

Ruth gasps as her eyes fall on a them. “They're lovely,” she smiles. “Thank you,” she says, and putting Jamie on the sofa next to her, she gets up to hug each of them.

“It's our pleasure, Ruth,” Catherine smiles and kisses her cheek.

“And they should come in handy very soon too,” Graham grins and winks at Harry as Ruth retakes her seat.

Ruth glances from him to Harry and back before asking, “What aren't you telling me?”

Harry sighs and gets up, walking over to the bookcase and pulling out a book on cricket. He opens the back cover and takes out an envelope before sliding the book back into its place. Then he turns around and walks over to Ruth. “Happy Christmas, Ruth,” he says quietly as he hands her the envelope.

She frowns at him slightly as she takes the envelope from his hand and unfolds the flap. Inside she finds three tickets to Berlin, rail-passes for Europe, and a list of hotel bookings in all the major capitals of Europe, including Paris on Valentine's day. She gasps and looks up at Harry, her eyes shining with a mixture of pleasure and love. “Oh, Harry,” is all she manages to say before she gets up and launches herself into his embrace.

Harry squeezes her tightly against his chest as he murmurs, “You know I've always wanted to take this trip with you. I'm afraid we won't be able to sit outside in the cafés liked we'd talked about, but I thought that, if we wait until the summer, Fiona will probably be walking and... well, three's a crowd and all that.”

“Yes,” she sighs and pulls back to look at him. “I'm sure it will be perfect, Harry. Thank you.”

“It's my pleasure,” Harry murmurs huskily as they gaze at each other for long moments.

“So when are you leaving?” Catherine asks, tactfully reminding them that they're not alone.

“A little over a month,” Harry smiles as he turns to face his daughter. “We couldn't leave before we meet our newest grandchild, could we?” Catherine shakes her head and opens her mouth to respond, but Harry continues, saying, “But what _I_ want to know is how you three found out about this.”

“Just because Ruth doesn't open any books on cricket,” Graham grins, “it doesn't mean that the rest of us aren't likely to do so.”

Harry chuckles and Ruth smiles. “ _Didn't_ open,” she corrects, making everyone laugh.

“Looks like you'll have to find a new hiding place, Harry,” Richard observes with a chuckle.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Harry smiles. “Well, at any rate, I'm glad you didn't spill the beans and thank you for the suitcases. They will indeed be very useful.”

“The smallest one has some clothes for Fiona in it,” Catherine adds. “I couldn't resist buying her a bunch of winter outfits. They were just too adorable for words.”

“You'd better have a girl then so Fiona can hand them down to her,” Ruth smiles.

“We'll just have to wait and see,” Catherine replies as she slides her hand lovingly over her protruding abdomen.

“And in any case,” Richard smiles as he slides his arms around Catherine's waist, “there's always next time...”

 

 

_Same day, 25th December, 9 pm_

 

Harry yawns loudly and stretches before bringing his hands up to his face and rubbing it in an effort to keep himself awake.

“Bed time?” Ruth smiles from the doorway.

“I'm not sure I can muster the energy required to get up, let alone climb the stairs,” Harry replies, his voice husky from sleepiness.

“We could always sleep here,” she replies as she crosses the room and sits down beside him on the thick rug in front of the gas fire, leaning back against the arm chair behind her.

“As tempting as that seems right now, I know I'll regret it in the morning,” Harry murmurs, shifting slightly forward, away from the armchair and lying down with his head on her lap. “My back is rather unforgiving nowadays.”

Ruth smiles and begins to run her fingers through his short curls and to massage and rub his right ear, making him close his eyes and hum contentedly. They're silent for a few minutes, enjoying each other's company and proximity as their minds wonder.

“Let's get a house with a proper fireplace,” Ruth says presently. “I miss the smell and sound of a real wood fire.”

“Mmmm,” Harry agrees thought he can't find the energy to respond verbally.

Ruth smiles fondly down at him and replies, “Come on, Harry. Bed. You're shattered.” Then she slowly coaxes him into sitting up and watches as he blearily looks around.

She gets up and offers him her hand, but he refuses it, saying, “Give me a moment.”

“How about I give you your present while you work up the energy to stand?” she says.

“Another present?” Harry asks, looking a little more alert all of a sudden.

“I haven't given you my present yet,” Ruth smiles and walks over to the tree, reaching round it for the envelope that's hidden behind it.

“You did this morning,” Harry sighs and smiles at the recollection. “It was the best present I've ever had, I might add.”

“Well,” Ruth chuckles, “then this is a little something extra. Happy Christmas, Harry.”

Harry takes the envelope from her hand and murmurs his thanks before opening it carefully. Inside is a picture of a black and white spaniel with the name Pepper written underneath it.

“I know you miss having a dog, Harry,” Ruth says as she watches him, “so I wanted to give you one for Christmas. I saw this dog at the animal shelter last week. She's such a sweet thing. She's three and was a family dog, but her owners couldn't keep her any longer for financial reasons. She was very much loved and they even left a note for her new owners saying how much they love her, how wonderful she is, especially with children, and asking for her to be well cared for and loved. I thought, if you don't object, we could adopt her, unless of course you would prefer a different dog.”

Harry smiles and looks up at her saying, “No, Ruth. She's perfect. You already like her, so I'm sure I will too. We'll go round tomorrow and fill in the paperwork. Thank you.” He gets up and pulls her into his arms, kissing her lips softly. When he pulls back he smiles down at her and says, “and now bed, I think.”

Ruth nods, and pulling out of his embrace, she switches off the fire and the light, while Harry checks the front door's locked and the alarm set before they make their way up the stairs together.

“That was the best Christmas I've had in years,” Ruth says and Harry wholeheartedly agrees.

 


	49. Epilogue

 

_Three and a half years later, 8th June, 11:30 am_

 

“Hello?” Ruth answers her phone.

“Hi,” Harry replies warmly. “Are you still at the duck pond?”

“No,” Ruth smiles. “We've just reached the sandpit.”

“I'll be there in ten minutes,” he replies.

“Μαμά, μαμά,” Fiona tugs on her hand. “Ποιός είναι; Είναι ο μπαμπάς;”

“Okay,” Ruth answers him, “see you in a bit.” Then she ends the call and turns to her daughter. “Ναι. Έρχεται τώρα να μας συναντίσει,” she replies.

Fiona jumps up and down excitedly and Ruth smiles, but out of the corner of her eye she suddenly catches sight of a man standing with his back towards her. He looks familiar, and she reflexively tightens her grip on her daughter's hand in alarm. Turning towards him more fully, she realises that he isn't alone, but that a girl of about five or six is standing by him pleading with him to let her play a little longer.

“Pleeeease, Daddy, pleeeease,” she begs, turning puppy dog eyes on him. Ruth smiles and relaxes a little, while inwardly berating herself for being so paranoid.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart, but we have to go,” he replies, and as soon as Ruth hears his voice, she gasps.

“Tom!” she says in amazement and watches as the man turns towards her.

His face registers surprise for a moment before a grin spreads across it, and he steps forward, saying, “Ruth! I can't believe it!”

Ruth watches as his expression shifts from one of joy to one of unease in an instant, and she quickly takes a couple of steps towards him, saying, “It's okay, Tom. I'm a civil servant now. There's no need to worry about us being seen talking.” She sees the smile return to his face and seconds later he wraps his arms around her in a big bear hug.

“God, it's so good to see you,” he murmurs. “How are you?”

“Fine,” she smiles when he releases her and steps back. “And you?”

“Good,” he replies. “Great in fact.”

“Μαμά,” Fiona interrupts, tugging on her mother's skirt. “Θέλω να παίξω.”

“Μισό λεπτό, αγάπη μου,” Ruth says as she turns to Fiona, “Ο κύριος είναι παλιός φίλος της μαμάς. Υπομονή.” Then she reaches down and picks her up before saying in English, “Come say hello to my friend. Fiona, this is Mr. Quinn. Tom, my daughter, Fiona.”

“Hello, Fiona,” he smiles as Fiona looks at him shyly, dipping her head down and looking at him through her eyelashes. “How old are you?”

Fiona wordlessly holds up three fingers, and then turns towards her mother and asks in a rather loud whisper as she points at Tom's daughter, “Who's that?”

“This is my daughter, Zoe,” Tom replies. “Zoe, this is Ms....” he tails off and looks at Ruth questioningly.

“Ruth,” she smiles. “Just Ruth's fine.”

Tom turns back to his daughter and continues, “This is Ruth and Fiona.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Zoe says a little shyly, but she holds her hand out to Ruth.

Ruth shakes it gently and answers, “The pleasure is all mine, Zoe. You have such a pretty name.”

Fiona begins to wiggle in her mother's arms, so Ruth sets her down and watches as she approaches Zoe boldly and asks, “Hello. Do you want to play?”

Zoe looks uncertainly up at her father who nods. “Five more minutes,” he says.

She smiles and says, “Okay,” to Fiona, who wastes no time in taking her hand in hers and pulling her towards the sandpit, while their parents watch them in fond amusement.

“A determined little thing, isn't she?” Tom comments dryly.

“Yes,” Ruth sighs. “Doesn't often take no for an answer.”

Tom laughs and says, “I imagine not. She must be quite a handful. My eldest is like that. I can't tell you how glad Christine and I are that Zoe's _not_ like her sister in that respect.”

“You have two girls?” Ruth asks as she turns to look at him, having ascertained that the girls are safe for the moment.

“Yes,” Tom nods. “Sierra is eight and Zoe just turned six.”

“Sierra,” Ruth smiles. “How very American.”

Tom laughs and nods. “I'm afraid so. Christine really loved the name, and in the end, I agreed on the condition that I got to name our second.”

Ruth nods. “Zoe,” she whispers.

Tom merely continues to watch the children as they both take a trip down memory lane. “She's well, you know,” he volunteers eventually. “Has two children, Danny and Alex. She contacted me about a year ago to see how I was. She found my security firm online.”

“I'm glad,” Ruth smiles. “Give her my best, won't you?”

“Of course,” he replies. They watch the children in silence for a moment and then he asks, “How are the others? Do you know?”

Ruth meets his gaze for a moment as the sadness wells up inside her. Then she clears her throat and says, “Malcolm's well. He retired a few years ago. We live quite close to him and get to see him often.”

“Good,” Tom nods, though he has a melancholy air about him all of a sudden. “Danny? Adam?... Harry?” he asks after a moment as they both watch their children building a sandcastle together.

“Danny and Adam didn't make it,” she whispers in a chocked voice before clearing her throat and adding, “but Harry's fine. He retired three and a half years ago now, just before I went to work for the Home Office. Actually, he's-”

“Obviously still a much better field agent that you are, Tom. You must be getting rusty,” Harry's voice interrupts from right behind them, making them both jump and spin round to face him.

“Harry!” Tom says in surprise as they shake hands and clap each other on the back affectionately.

“It's good to see you, Tom,” he replies. “You look well. Freelance security advising must suit you.”

“It keeps me and Christine busy, but we still have time for the girls,” he agrees. “What about you? What are you up to these days, Harry?”

“This and that,” he shrugs enigmatically, prompting a frown from Ruth. It's hard to break a habit of a lifetime when it comes to giving out information about himself and his family. When he'd retired, he'd put some checks and balances in place to ensure his safety and that of his rapidly expanding family. He'd let the DG, Home Secretary, and the directors of the JIC and Six know that, if anything happened to any of them, he had vital and very damning information on all of them, and a few more important people besides, that would find its way into the wrong hands immediately. He'd made it clear that the information would not endanger the country or the Security Services in any way, but it would almost certainly spell the end of their careers. It looked like they'd taken the threat seriously as not only have they not come after him in any way, but it looks like they've prevented others from doing so as well. Moving out of London along the coast of Suffolk has helped, he's sure, and they have a comfortable life there. Malcolm and Graham aren't far, though by no means next door either. It's only Catherine who's remained in the capital, and Ruth, who commutes daily for work. All things considered, they have a good life and he's determined to keep it that way, and avoiding answering personal questions is one of many ways to do so. This is Tom Quinn, however, one of his brightest and his best, and despite the unfortunate circumstances which led to his decommissioning, he still trusts Tom not to betray them. After all, he's in a similar situation with his own family, working hard to protect them from any part of his and Christine's former life that might come back to get them.

He smiles softly at Ruth and adds, “I find myself doing a lot of things that I missed out on while I was in the Service.”

Tom catches the soft, secret smile that his two former colleagues share, and coupled with the fact that he's run into them here at the same time, he comes to the obvious and yet startling conclusion that Harry and Ruth are a couple. He's about to open his mouth to ask about his newly aroused suspicions, when Fiona looks up at them and scrambles to her feet quickly, running towards them and calling out, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!”

Tom has just about enough time to register the look of heartfelt pleasure on Harry's face before the small girl, flings herself into his arms and is lifted up high in the air before he pulls her to his chest and kissed her cheek. “Hello, Beautiful,” he smiles.

“Hi, Daddy,” she replies. “Where _were_ you? Mummy and I had to feed _all_ the ducks by ourselves.”

“I'm sorry, Fiona,” Harry murmurs. “I had a few errands to run. What have you been building?”

“A castle!” she exclaims. “Come see.” Then she wiggles in his arms until he lowers her to the ground, and grasping his hand firmly in her own, she begins pulling him over to the sandpit.

Harry murmurs a quiet, “Excuse me,” before allowing himself to be led over to the sandpit, leaving Ruth to answer the inevitable questions from Tom.

“You and Harry?” Tom asks after a moment's silence, during which he attempts to reconcile the image of Harry Pearce, boss spook, ruthless, calculating, cold-hearted bastard, that he'd known about a decade ago now, with the content, open, devoted man before him. “When did that happen?”

“That's an incredibly difficult question to answer, Tom,” Ruth sighs.

“How so?” he asks intrigued.

“We were in love before you left,” she smiles, “but it took us years to acknowledge it and even longer to do something about it. I suppose the simplest answer is that we got married nearly four years ago now, and we're very happy.”

He nods and replies, “I'm glad, Ruth. You deserve to be happy.”

“Thank you, Tom.”

They watch Harry talking to Fiona and Zoe for a few more moments before Tom adds, “I still can't get my head around the fact that this is Harry Pearce, master spy and boss of Section D. In all the years I'd worked for him, I never even got a glimpse of this side of his character. It makes you realise just how good a spook he really was.”

“He seldom let his guard down,” Ruth agrees, “but occasionally, he did with me. That's why I fell in love with him, and I knew that nobody would understand that because he never let them see his gentle, kind, caring side. He couldn't and I accepted that, but knowing what others would think of me, of us as a couple, made it almost impossible for me to allow myself to be with him. It took me years to finally let it happen, but in retrospect, I believe it worked out for the best. He was almost ready to leave Five by then, and we're so much happier away from that place.”

“Me too,” Tom nods as they walk over to the sand pit, and he gives her a brief smile before crouching down next to Harry and admiring the castle their daughters have built.

 

 

_Same day, 8th June, 1pm_

 

“Happy birthday, dear Charlotte, happy birthday to you,” everyone sings enthusiastically as the birthday girl stares all around her in bewilderment.

“Can I help her, Catherine?” Jamie asks eagerly.

“Me too, me too!” Fiona interjects.

“And _me_!” Ben exclaims. “She's _my_ sister!”

“You can all help her,” Catherine reassures them. “On three. One... two... three!”

All three children blow at the single candle in the middle of the very pink cake, and all the adults cheer and clap when the candle goes out.

“Can we have cake now?” Fiona asks excitedly.

“Yes,” Catherine replies and proceeds to cut the cake and serve it into plates that Richard passes around.

“ _I_ wanted the first piece,” Fiona whines, watching Charlotte stick her little hand into her cake.

“Το ξέρω, αγάπη μου _,_ ” Ruth says patiently as she crouches down beside her. “Όλοι θέλουν το πρώτο κομμάτι, αλλά μόνο ένας μπορεί να το έχει. Σήμερα είναι τα γεννέθλεια της Charlotte, και έτσι αυτή θα πάρει το πρώτο.”

“Όχι!” Fiona exclaims. “It's not fair. _I_ want it.”

“Here you go, Fiona,” Richard says and places a piece of cake in front of her.

“I don't want it!” Fiona shouts and pushes the plate away.

Ruth tries to reason with her, but it's all in vain; Fiona's already losing control of herself.

“Come on, Fiona,” Harry says firmly as he steps forward to assist Ruth, and scooping his daughter into his arms while ignoring her protests which begin escalating in volume as he moves away from the table, he leaves the room. He takes Fiona upstairs into Ben's bedroom and sits down on his bed.

Fiona's having a full blown tantrum by now, and as she struggles in his arms, he releases her onto the bed where she continues to cry and punch and kick the mattress. It takes a few minutes, but slowly Fiona begins to calm down, and eventually, she sits up and crawls onto his lap where she cuddles against him while he strokes her hair tenderly. They've done this many, many times over the past few years. Fiona has always been a very determined little person who never gives up easily, however, her main driving force is a wish to do everything by herself, and not a desire to get her own way. This means that she's usually a reasonably cooperative child and one can reason with her despite her very young age.

Harry and Ruth had decided early on, that the best way to deal with her stubbornness is to stop her from doing only the things that are dangerous for her or others. Thus, they've worked hard to adapt her environment so that it's safe and present her with opportunities to do things for herself. She has her own small table and chair, her own cupboard with her plates, cups, cutlery, and snacks, and even her own place in the fridge.

However, she doesn't have any siblings young enough to be a source of competition, and even though she sees Jamie quite a lot, she doesn't have to wait her turn on a daily basis at home. So today, after her long morning at the park, her refusal to take a nap, and the excitement of her niece's birthday party, she's worn out and unusually uncooperative.

“When you're ready to listen to what I have to say, we can go back downstairs and you can eat your cake,” Harry murmurs after a bit.

“I'm ready, Daddy,” she says quietly after a moment and lifts her head from his chest.

Harry smiles down at her and wipes the tears from her cheeks with his handkerchief before saying gently, “I know you're very excited about Charlotte's party and maybe just a little bit tired from the park this morning, but before we can go down and have some cake, you need to say sorry to Catherine, Richard, and Mummy for shouting and not using your manners.”

“Okay, Daddy,” she nods and slides off his lap onto the floor.

“That's my girl,” he smiles. “I'm so proud of you, Fiona.”

He stands up and takes her hand in his before they make their way out of the room and down the stairs. At the bottom, they turn towards the kitchen and Harry manages to catch Ruth's eye through the open doorway.

She makes her way to their side quietly and crouches down in front of Fiona. “Αισθάνεσαι καλήτερα, αγάπη μου;” she asks.

Fiona nods and reaches for her, wrapping her arms round Ruth's neck and burying her face in her shoulder. “Συγνώμη, μαμά,” she says.

“Δεν έγινε τίποτα, Fiona,” Ruth replies and hugs her tightly.

In the mean time, Harry has slipped past them into the kitchen and managed to get hold of Richard and Catherine whom he sends out into the hall so that Fiona can apologise.

“Is Fiona okay, Grandpa?” Jamie asks in concern when Harry sits down next to him at the table.

“She's fine, Jamie,” Harry smiles. “Just a little tired.” Then he leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “but don't tell her that, will you?”

Jamie smiles and shakes his head making his blonde curls dance. “I'm not daft, Grandpa. Little kids don't like to be told their tired even when they are,” he says sagely.

Graham, who's bouncing Charlotte on his knee, grins and winks at his father across the table as Jamie turns back to eating his cake.

“They certainly don't, Jamie,” Harry smiles and turns to Ben. “Is it good cake, Ben?” he asks.

Ben nods enthusiastically and makes a sound that sounds a little like a yes, but is almost indecipherable as his mouth's completely full.

The sound of the doorbell followed by voices in the hall, announces the arrival of the other grandparents, though much to everyone's surprise it isn't Richard's parents who appear in the kitchen a few moments later, but Catherine's and Graham's mother, Jane, and her partner, Arthur.

“Mum!” Graham exclaims and gets up, expertly moving the birthday girl to his hip and embracing his mother. “We didn't expect you until this evening.”

“I know, Darling,” Jane smiles, “but Arthur's business concluded early and it seemed silly to delay coming over until later. We thought we might head home tonight after we leave here.” She turns her attention to her youngest grandchild and takes her in her arms, making a fuss of her while Arthur shakes hands with Graham and Harry and greets the two boys.

After greeting Jane and her partner, Harry moves back to a corner of the room as is his habit in large company, partly because he enjoys observing what's going on, a luxury he hadn't been able to indulge in as Head of Section D, and partly because, even after three years of meeting Jane at their grandchildren’s birthday parties, he still doesn't feel entirely comfortable in her presence. They're civil to each other, but he feels that she still hasn't forgiven him for any part of what had happened between them, and it gives him no pleasure to be around her. In fact there have been times when he's almost resolved to get up and leave, but Ruth had talked him out of it, reminding him how many times he'd had to sit through meeting after meeting with politicians that he detested and telling him that he can do it again for his children and grandchildren rather than his country.

She's right of course, but it pains him to see the way Jane treats her. Even his children have noticed the coldness with which Jane responds to Ruth, though the latter goes out of her way to be kind to her. In the end, Catherine and Graham had began to arrange double birthday parties or at least separate visits for their parents so they rarely encounter each other. It works quite well, though not perfectly, today being a case in point.

Ruth helps Fiona take a seat at the table and gets her a piece of cake before sitting down beside her. Soon Fiona's engrossed with eating, and she has time to watch the others. Jamie's getting so big now; he's already five, and such a happy and yet determined little boy, who loves any form of physical activity and sport, much to the delight of his Grandfather who's already teaching him the finer points of cricket and rugby. Ben's more intellectual than his cousin, and though he enjoys running around and trying to keep up with Jamie, he prefers drawing pictures and listening to music and stories if he's given a choice. Fiona seems to enjoy everything, which is lucky as she fits in with both of her nephews, running, climbing trees, and playing ball with Jamie, and reading and drawing with Ben when they're together. Jamie's her favourite as he's older and has inherited a generous dose of the Pearce charm, and she looks up to him and tries her best to keep up with him, even to the point of insisting that Harry teach her how to play cricket, football, and even rugby so that she can impress Jamie.

Ruth smiles as she watches Jamie gobble down the rest of his cake and excuse himself from the table to go play. Fiona immediately abandons her cake in favour of Jamie and also gets down, running out of the room, hot on his heels. Only Ben seems unperturbed by anything and continues to carefully eat his cake, savouring the sweet, full flavour of this unusual treat. Much like Harry, Ben marches to his own drum beat, Ruth thinks with fond admiration. She wonders briefly what Charlotte will be like. She's already following the older ones around whenever she gets the chance, and she's very active. It'll be good for Ben if she's an active child, she muses. It would be all too easy for their younger grandson to become too sedentary, like she had been as a child. It was only the riding, dance, and swimming lessons at boarding school that had forced her to maintain some level of physical fitness. Tap dancing, he might enjoy tap dancing, she suddenly thinks and makes a mental note to suggest it to Catherine. Ben has a good sense of rhythm and he'd probably do well with it.

She lifts her eyes from Ben and they settles on Harry who's hiding away behind his grandson in the corner of the room as usual. He's watching her, and as their gazes met, she feels her heart beat faster. Even after almost four years of marriage, just looking at Harry never fails to excite her and their touch is still electric. It amazes her somewhat that this is still the case, but at the same time, she's grateful for it. He looks good, she thinks absently. He's in better shape now, stronger and fitter as a result of getting more exercise with Pepper and Fiona. He looks healthier, and the lines on his face have softened and turned into lines of laughter rather than worry. He keeps himself busy, volunteering a few times a week at the Soldiers' Charity, working with Malcolm on God only knows what, putting his years of experience to work by indirectly offering his advise on certain matters of national security to the Home Secretary through her, and of course, helping out at home by completely taking over the cooking, grocery shopping, and dropping off and picking up Fiona from nursery school. He's happy; they both are. They have a good life, a lovely cottage near the coast, a wonderful extended family, Fiona, and each other.

He smiles softly at her, almost as if he's read her thoughts, and she gets up and moves over to him. “Hello,” Ruth whispers. “Hiding away again, are you?”

“Mmmm,” he hums. “Something like that. You okay?”

“Fine,” she smiles. Then noticing the concerned look he's giving her, she adds quietly, “You know Jane's not nearly as bad as Elena was, or Ros when she wanted to be, for that matter. She could be a real Ice Queen.”

Harry chuckles and reaches his arms round her waist, pulling her against him. “I love you,” he murmurs against her neck and pressed his lips to the soft skin just below her ear.

“Mmmm,” Ruth hums. “I get the feeling you want something, Sir Harry.”

“I do,” he chuckles and pulls back to look at her. “But thankfully, I have it right here in my arms.”

“But unfortunately for you, my love,” she whispers as she traces his jaw with one finger. “You're going to have to wait until we get home because this kind of thing is becoming a habit with you when Jane appears, and though I'm flattered that I'm so much more appealing to you than she is, I'm sure that this is part of the problem. I rather think that, if you didn't have me, you'd be just as unpleasant towards Arthur as Jane is to me. Your temperaments are actually rather alike. It's not surprising that you drove each other up the wall really.”

“Fine,” he says as he releases her, “but I'm not...” He tails off as the sound of his youngest daughter's raised voice drifts into the kitchen and he sighs. “I'm too old for this shit,” he mutters into his hands as he rubs his face with them before letting them drop to his sides.

Ruth frowns at him and replies, “You're not. I'm sure our daughter would test anybody's patience on a day like this. She doesn't do well when her routine is broken, and you know it. I'll deal with this one.”

She walks into the sitting room where Fiona is arguing loudly with Jamie, while a concerned Catherine's about to intervene, but seeing Ruth approach, she pauses and lets her mediate the argument instead. Ruth walks up to the pair of them and asks, “What seems to be the disagreement?”

“I don't want to be Tinkerbell,” Fiona replies as she stamps her foot. “She doesn't do anything useful.”

“Then you can be Wendy,” Jamie replies.

“NO!” Fiona shouts. “Wendy's even worse. I want to be Peter Pan.”

“But I'm Peter Pan,” Jamie objects.

“You're _always_ Peter Pan,” Fiona complains.

“But Peter Pan is a boy,” Jamie explains slowly. “You're a girl; you can't be Peter Pan.”

“I hate being a girl,” Fiona says in disgust. “The girls always get the silly roles. I want to fight Captain Hook. Why can't I be a boy?”

“If I may interrupt?” Ruth asked quietly. The two children stops speaking immediately. There's something about Ruth's quiet, respectful manner that always gets their attention, and they know that she never takes sides but is always coming up with solutions that are logical and satisfy everyone.

“Yes, Granny,” Jamie says.

“If this is a game and it's all pretend,” Ruth begins, “then Fiona can be whoever she chooses to be and you, Jamie, can also be whoever you choose to be. There can be two Peter Pans if you want. Perhaps you can pretend that Peter Pan went through a magic waterfall that made him double so that he could fight Captain Hook better.”

“Yes!” Fiona says eagerly.

“Or,” Ruth continues, “perhaps he has a long lost twin.”

“That's a better idea,” Jamie nods, “because then we won't both be called Peter. That would be confusing.”

“What about me? Can I play too?” Ben asks having finished his cake and come to find them. “I want to be Peter Pan too.”

“We can't have three Peter Pans,” Jamie objects.

“You can have anything you like,” Ruth smiles. “Use your imaginations. You could make up new characters that are just as good as Peter Pan or even better, if you want to, and they don't all have to be boys either. Girls and women can be equally brave, smart, and strong.”

“Really?” Jamie asks sceptically.

“Really,” Ruth confirms. “If you don't believe me, ask your Grandfather.”

Jamie, Fiona, and Ben all turn to look at Harry, who smiles and says, “Absolutely. Some of the smartest, strongest, and bravest people I worked with were women.”

“Like Mummy,” Fiona says proudly.

“Like Mummy,” Harry confirms with a tender look at his wife.

“Look!” Jamie exclaims, pointing at Graham who's just entered the room with Jane. “There's Captain Hook! After him, gang!”

“Arg!” Graham growls, slipping into the role given to him immediately. “It's that pesky boy and his bothersome friends again! Come here, you dirty rascals!”

The three children shriek and run out of the room and into the back garden with Graham at their heels. Charlotte immediately begins toddling after them with Richard at her side, and the rest of the adults follow them out smiling.

“What a boisterous bunch they are,” Jane says, “and Graham is almost as bad as the children.”

“He's the one who ought to be Peter Pan,” Ruth replies with a fond smile. “The boy who never grew up.”

“He grew up faster than most, I'd say,” Jane replies haughtily and turns away.

“She didn't mean it like that,” Harry bristles, and despite Ruth laying a restraining hand on his arm, he adds, “No, Ruth. This has to stop. It's been three years already and I'm not going to tolerate it any longer. If you want to turn up earlier than expected while we're still here, Jane, then you can jolly well be civil and polite to my wife. You're acting like a-”

“Harry!” Ruth interrupts. “That's enough.”

“Like what?” Jane asks angrily as she turns back to face Harry.

“Jane,” Arthur warns and steps forward to restrain her while Ruth's still trying to get Harry to move away from Jane.

Seeing that something's going on, Catherine comes quickly over to them and demands, “What's the matter now?” as she steps between her parents.

“Your father was just about to tell us what he thinks of me,” Jane replies, “but I think we all have a pretty good idea of what he and I think of each other, so it's probably superfluous.”

“You-” Harry begins, but he's interrupted again by Ruth.

“It was my fault,” Ruth explains as she tugs roughly on Harry's wrist to silence him. “I said something that Jane misunderstood. I'm sorry, Jane.”

Catherine sighs and shakes her head before saying, “If there's one thing I'm one hundred percent sure of, it's that this is not your fault, Ruth.” Then seeing Jane about to object and Harry smirk in satisfaction, she adds angrily, “Look! I've had just about had enough of this sort of thing. It's bad enough to have to deal with Ben and Charlie fighting, without having to deal with you two as well. You're my parents and I love you both, but unless you can stop this ridiculous, immature behaviour, you will no longer be welcome here together. Either you solve this right now, or Mum you have to leave and come back at five, which is the time we'd arranged. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.” Then she glares at the pair of them before stalking off to the house.

There's an uncomfortable silence in her wake. Harry looks down at Ruth, and noticing that she's on the verge of tears, he immediately feels very guilty. He knows that she hates being the cause of arguments between Jane and himself, and especially between Jane and Catherine or Graham. He shouldn't have reacted to Jane's provocation. You're an idiot, Harry, he tells himself and curses his lack of self-control. “I'm sorry, Jane,” he says eventually in an effort to make Ruth feel better. He needs to fix things even though he knows that Jane's the one in the wrong.

Jane stiffens slightly, but then she relaxes a little and smiles briefly before replying, “So am I. I overreacted.” She glances at Arthur who simply raises his eyebrows at her. She swallows and then turns to Ruth, saying, “Ruth, I apologise. My reaction was uncalled for. I'm sure you meant well.”

Ruth looks a little relieved and she nods. “I only meant it in a good way. I enjoy watching Graham play with the children. He needs to relax a little. It's not easy being a single parent and he does such a good job of it. He's a wonderful young man. You did an excellent job raising him, Jane.”

“Thank you,” Jane smiles, and for once, there's real warmth in her eyes as she looks at Ruth. A brief silence follows before Jane admits, “I worry about him. He needs someone and I'm not sure it's this Jessica...”

“Neither am I,” Harry replies. “He could do better than Jessica. She's more like an additional burden than a partner, but he'll figure it out eventually. He'll find someone.”

“Get off me, get off me, you pesky child,” Graham's voice drifts across the garden towards them, making them all smile and turn to watch.

“Go, Charlie!” Jamie cheers, noticing that his little cousin has grabbed Graham round his thigh and is holding on tightly, giggling away as Graham begins to hobble along with her attached to his leg. “Get him, Gang,” Jamie yells and launches himself at Graham.

Soon Graham ends up in a heap on the ground with all four children climbing on top on him and pinning him down. “Help, Sanderson, help!” he calls, and immediately, a smiling Richard joins the game, pulling the children off Graham one by one and helping him get to his feet.

“Let's get 'em, Capt'n,” he calls and races after the retreating group of children with Graham right behind him, a still giggling Charlotte on his back.

Harry steps behind Ruth and wraps his arms around her as she leans into him and they watch the scene before them. “Tempted to join in?” Ruth asks quietly.

“I am,” he grins, “but I think I'll leave it to the youngsters. I'll be the donkey a little later and give them all rides. Are you okay?”

“Yes,” she smiles as she strokes his bare forearm and leans her head back against his shoulder. “We have to be two of the luckiest people alive, Harry,” she adds a few moments later.

“We are, Ruth,” he smiles as he presses a kiss to her temple. “We most definitely are.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of Greek
> 
> At park: "Mummy, mummy," Fiona tugged on her hand. "Who is it? Is it Daddy?"
> 
> "Okay," Ruth answered him, "see you in a bit." Then she ended the call and turned to her daughter. "Yes. He's coming to meet us now," she replied.
> 
> ...
> 
> "Mummy," Fiona interrupted, tugging on her mother's skirt. "I want to play."
> 
> "Just a minute, love," Ruth said as she turned to Fiona. "The gentleman is an old friend of Mummy's. Patience."
> 
> ...
> 
> At Charlie's birthday party: "I know, love," Ruth said patiently as she crouched down beside her. "Everyone wants the first piece, but only one person can have it. Today is Charlotte's birthday, so she will get it."
> 
> "No!" Fiona exclaimed. "It's not fair. I want it."
> 
> ...
> 
> She made her way to their side quietly and crouched down in front of Fiona. "Are you feeling better, love?" she asked.
> 
> Fiona nodded and reached for her, wrapping her arms round Ruth's neck and burying her face in her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mummy," she said.
> 
> "It's okay, Fiona," Ruth replied and hugged her tight. (literally: Nothing happened, Fiona)


End file.
